


Then Will My Love Linger On

by Esta Camille Lupin (edye327)



Series: I'll Be Loving You [1]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Actual plot, Adventure, Angst, Damsel in Distress, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, I'VE ADDED A BUNCH OF NOTES, Jealous Newt, Letters, Minor Character Death, Mystery, Oh my god they're so in love, Original Character(s), Protective Newt Scamander, Protective Tina Goldstein, Scary stuff is happening, Slow Burn, Sopheus, and i'm starting edits, flangst, hold onto your hats it's gonna be a wild ride, holy shit, my tags are a Hot Mess, newtina, newtina angst, newtina fluff, oh shit what is happening, whoa it's complete, why are people dying, wow it's more than 80 chapters damn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-09-15 14:57:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 88
Words: 241,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9240317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edye327/pseuds/Esta%20Camille%20Lupin
Summary: Falling in love is the easy bit (well, as easy as it can be for an awkward, inexperienced, occasionally insecure magizoologist and a troubled, commitment-phobic, jealous Auror to fall in love). Staying out of trouble is just asmidgemore difficult, as is gradually navigating their way through a relationship built to last. Meeting the family? Stressful, but who doesn't love someone with a name like Porpentina?As for dealing with a nefarious flapper determined to kill Miss Goldstein, Grindelwald still at large, a mysterious series of attacks on both Newt and Tina, and everyone's general proclivity to jump headfirst into Dangerous Situations... well, that's rather the point of this entire story, and I don't give away spoilers.[read the notes]Stuff to look forward toJealous TinaInsecure/inexperienced NewtDamsel in distress (both Newt and Tina)Stupid domestic fluffStupid painful angstBAMFsLots of OCsComedic reliefA sister for NewtAMERICAN HOGSMEADE AND DIAGON ALLEYTitle from "Always" by Irving Berlin (1925)





	1. Preface

**Author's Note:**

> Notes right off the bat:
> 
> -Although I keep this true to JKR's universe and as canon as possible, there are going to be occasional small plot holes and canon divergence (come on, even JKR has plot holes). 
> 
> -I have used characters as templates, rather than portrayed them stagnantly and exactly as some people may desire. After all, we only know Newt and Tina for a couple hours, and I see no point in writing flat characters. With so little relative knowledge of their characters, I don't see why there should be one "right" way to portray them.
> 
> -I also use an OC as a main character. This is a big one that I think I ought to warn prospective readers about.
> 
> -My characters aren't all written to be liked. There will be characters you don't like, characters that annoy you, plot events you're not happy with. There will be conflict and character growth and this is not just a fluffy fun fanfic, even if it has a lot of fun.
> 
> If all of the above are not for you, you may not be a fan. That's okay! You can simply close out and read something more to your liking :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Newt refers to himself as "your eccentric magizoologist" and asks Tina not to get into trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Help, I’ve fallen deep into this ship and can’t get up! Please refer to my work summary for all the goodies that will be contained in this piece.
> 
> I'm estimating there will be at least 100 chapters of this fic (so far 12 weeks plotted out). Intermissions describing the American wizarding world, history relevant to the fic, etc. will continue to be posted, as will outtakes. 
> 
> TW for vague allusions to planned rape, abuse, and depression (I will add warnings to each chapter accordingly). Feel free to email me at ecb327@gmail.com with any questions, concerns about the TWs (I'll happily summarize for you), or requests.

Dear Tina,

I’m set to arrive in two weeks. I’m not sure what time you can expect me — that is, if you are still amenable to delivery of your book in person. Either way, I will be in the area should you wish to seek me out. Just ask if anyone’s seen your eccentric magizoologist, likely lost in thought somewhere, and I’m sure I won’t be difficult to find. On second thought, it might be a bit easier if you just use my name.

I truly hope you would still like to see me. Please stay out of trouble, won’t you? As delighted as I was to vouch for your reinstatement, Madame Picquery seems to have very little tolerance for misdemeanour. You know that I wholeheartedly support such misdemeanours, but if you want to stay an Auror — thereby doing the world a tremendous deed — I might recommend doing what you’re told. (Of course, as anybody I’ve met in the past thirty years can attest, this is a phenomenally hypocritical statement and you really shouldn’t take anything I say seriously.)

Yours,

Newt

* * *

Newt,

Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I still want to see you. And yes, I’m doing my best to keep my toe in line. I intend to spend as much time with your creatures as I can, which I think will do the world an even more tremendous deed, as it will keep me from wreaking havoc in the wizarding world. Being in an enchanted wooden box does that to a person.

Don’t worry, I don’t take anything you say seriously. Kidding! But really, it will be wonderful to see you again. Queenie and Jacob are keeping it a secret, so don’t tell anyone, but they’re engaged. We still haven’t worked out the details; I suggested they marry legally in England. But for now, we’re just all very pleased that this transpired.

Fondly,

Tina

* * *

Dear Tina,

Please give the happy couple my congratulations. My creatures will be as pleased to see you as I am, I’m sure. And if you plan on getting entangled in danger and drama anyhow, do get entangled when I’m there, so I don’t miss out on the fun. Perhaps I should start writing a new book about strong-minded investigators. It would, of course, be quite complimentary.

I won’t be able to send another owl until I arrive, but it’s only a week now.

Newt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed, and please leave comments to let me know what you think!


	2. Now that my blue days have passed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Newt describes Tina as unnecessarily beautiful, feels many feelings, tells her she's stunning, and falls asleep to the sound of her voice.
> 
> Newt thought Tina was highly intelligent, but this conversation is beginning to concern him. She clearly isn’t grasping the point. “But you’re already stunning."
> 
> She freezes when he says this. Oh, bollocks. He’s gone and said the wrong thing again. Tina is still gazing at him, and then inexplicably brings her right hand up to touch the side of her temple.
> 
> “Sorry,” he says, despite his vow not to apologize.
> 
> “Stunning?” she asks.
> 
> “Stunning. Beautiful.” He stops himself before he lists a multitude of similar adjectives. 
> 
> “You think I’m beautiful?”
> 
> Isn’t that what he just said? “Yes.”
> 
> “Oh,” is all she comes up with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Always" by Irving Berlin (1925). Listen to the [Sinatra version](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eLh-m1Z_feY) and feel all the Newtina feels if you get a chance!

“' _Your_ eccentric magizoologist’?” Queenie squeals, reading the letter that Tina had left carelessly on the kitchen table. “Teenie!”

“That’s private,” Tina says sternly, snatching it back.

“I couldn’t help it,” Queenie says, sighing dreamily. “I was gonna pick up on it anyway, you’ve been thinking so much about him lately. Oh, this is going to be _magical!”_ She leans back on the kitchen counter and beams at Tina. “You know, he’s much more romantic than I expected," she adds thoughtfully. "Then again, it’s easier to write things on paper than to say them out loud.”

Tina groans. “Would you _please_ stop?”

Queenie smirks. “You know he likes you, don’t you?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Tina mutters.

“Baloney,” Queenie proclaims in a sing-songy voice.

Groaning again, Tina grabs a stack of papers she has to review and heads for the living room, where she waves her wand so each page hovers in front of her, allowing for easy note-taking and annotating. Queenie follows her and peers over the top of a sheet of paper.

“When’s he coming?”

“Tomorrow,” Tina says, carefully concealing the excitement in her voice. _What’s he going to say? What am_ I _going to say?_

“You’ll figure it out, I’m sure.” Queenie pats her sister (a bit condescendingly, Tina thinks) on the head, before retreating to her room to try on the new dress she bought specifically for tomorrow night. Tina has to go undercover at The Blind Pig, and reluctantly agreed to let Queenie and Jacob accompany her. However, she drew the line firmly at new clothing; she feels out of place enough in the get-up she wore the last time they were there with Newt.

_Newt._

“Stop worrying!” Queenie calls from the other room. “It’ll be just fine!”

“I _really_ hope you’re right,” Tina mutters, and flips the page.

* * *

_Week 1, Monday_

Newt almost turns back about a dozen times on his way to the apartment. First of all, he has no idea if anybody’s home. Second of all, Tina might not be home. Or worse, she might be home alone. And third of all, he has absolutely no idea what to do about this.

He thought he was holding it together quite nicely until now. If he does say so himself, his letters were well-written and confident, but that couldn’t be farther from the truth. Tina obviously realizes that in terms of social aptitude he’s no Jacob Kowalski, and at least during their brief time together didn’t seem to mind or criticize it. The downside to writing uncharacteristically calm letters (which admittedly took him several hours and a stack of crumpled parchment to produce) is that she might be terribly disappointed to discover he can barely get two words out. Maybe three, on a good day.

He isn’t accustomed to being this nervous. Book talks and lectures are a breeze; in fact, he prefers speaking to a large audience, rather than having to fixate on one person. He frequently experiences anxiety in the field, and stress when one of his creatures is sick. But nothing like this. For once in his life, he desperately cares what somebody thinks of him, and he’s terrified that this, in and of itself, might be his downfall.

Somehow he finds himself on the landing — Mrs. Esposito isn’t home — dying to knock but wanting equally as much to run the opposite direction. Queenie can probably pick up on his racing thoughts at this point, and knowing her, she won’t be too subtle about it, so before she can mention something to Tina (or _he_ can vomit), he bravely pushes the door open.

“Come on, Queenie, or we’ll be la —” Tina stops short.

She’s wearing the same outfit as she did at The Blind Pig, and Newt can only stare. Merlin’s beard, he was happy enough to finally see her again, but this was truly an unnecessary addition. Behind Tina, Queenie smirks at him. _Oh, bugger off._

“Newt,” Tina says breathlessly, pushing her hair behind her ear and smoothing her dress self-consciously. “You’re — I didn’t expect you —”

“Ah, yes,” he says, and gestures to his suitcase. “Got here early, you see. We were going to arrive terribly late, and I thought that I could perhaps… encourage the captain to set sail a smidge earlier than planned.”

Tina raises her eyebrow. “Of course. What did you do?”

“I, erm, gave him two signed copies of my book, and… well, it’s turned out to be rather more successful than I’d anticipated, so I had a bit of gold with me — safe from my nifflers, of course,” he clarifies, patting his pocket, which is charmed, “and..." He holds out his arms, motioning to the entire apartment. “Well, I’m here, anyway.”

“You seriously bribed the captain of the ship to get here —”

Queenie clears her throat. “Teenie, we _really_ do have to leave,” she says in a low voice.

“Right. Oh. Oh! I’m sorry, I forgot,” Tina says. “Newt?”

He jumps, lost in his own thoughts and realizing too late that he’s watching Tina peculiarly. “Yes.”

“Do you have a place to stay?”

“Ah. That.” He shifts uncomfortably. “I meant to, only —”

“Then it’s settled,” Queenie announces, looping her arm through Tina’s. “Stay here.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Here! Oh, it’ll be a grand time.” She beams.

Newt looks at Tina, who shrugs, and then back at Queenie. “I — I really wouldn’t want to inconvenience you,” he says uncomfortably.

“Nonsense,” Queenie replies, and he swears she gives him a little wink. “You’ll stay here.” She reaches for her jacket and turns back to Newt. “You remember where everything is, honey?”

“Er, I think so,” he stammers.

“Perfect. Come on, Teenie.”

Tina frowns, looking back at Newt. Although he can’t hear the conversation that occurs between the two women, and he deliberately stares up at the ceiling and hums to himself, feeling supremely awkward, he assumes it’s something along the lines of “should we invite Newt along?”

“Stop it, Queenie,” Tina hisses, and then turns back to Newt and smiles encouragingly. “Would you like to come?”

 _If you look like that, yes._ “No, I’m afraid I’m not much for dancing,” he says, eyes darting between Tina’s right shoulder and the floor. “Besides, I’m a bit knackered, could do with a lie-down, I think.”

“There’s gonna be men there,” Queenie supplies, although it sounds more like a warning or reminder than a tidbit of information.

Newt blanches slightly, not all too keen on Tina walking into a speakeasy looking so unnecessarily beautiful. Then again, he’d likely worsen the situation to the point where she’d go _looking_ for someone else, so he chooses the lesser of two evils. “That’s quite alright,” he manages, flashing a fleeting and slightly pained smile. “Erm, I — I think I’d rather check on my creatures, haven’t done since this morning before I left, you know.”

“I could help,” Tina offers eagerly, sending a wave of some unidentifiable emotion over Newt. “I mean, the investigation can wait. Ogbourne’s there at least three times a week, Madame Picquery won’t mind if I tell her that Mr. Scamander just got here...” She casts Newt a hopeful glance, which he returns with some sort of encouraging look (he thinks). Her eyes really are beautiful. So is her smile. Was the lipstick strictly necessary?

“Tina, no,” Queenie admonishes. “You’re still on informal probation since the bakery mishap, and it ain’t good form to back out on an assignment now.”

“Bakery mishap?” Newt repeats. So much for not getting into trouble.

“Could you not?” Tina snaps at Queenie. “Fine, I’ll go.” She looks apologetically at Newt. “We’ll be back soon.”

“Maybe,” Queenie adds airily. As Tina’s struggling into her jacket (Newt wonders if he ought to be helping her), the Legilimens sidles over to him and whispers, “You’ll thank me later.”

“For what?” he asks, put off.

“If you keep ogling her like that and acting goofy about her, you’re gonna get in a whole bunch of trouble.”

_I can’t help it if she’s mesmerizing._

“Just don’t be too obvious,” Queenie advises, then beams and pats him on the cheek. “Oh, ain’t this the berries?”

“Er… I suppose.”

She gives him one more smile before whisking Tina away. Queenie’s right: he isn’t known for being particularly subtle or socially astute, and although Tina didn’t hit him for his small, tentative gesture when they said farewell, lack of physical retribution can hardly be considered a sign that she might be remotely interested in him.

He hasn’t entirely dissected and understood his feelings, either. After all, absence makes the heart grow fonder — at least in his case. Tina, on the other hand, has likely spent quite some time in close quarters with her coworkers, many of whom are male. It only stands to reason that any intelligent woman (and Tina certainly is intelligent — brilliant, really) would far prefer an accomplished Auror over an eccentric magizoologist. _Her_ eccentric magizoologist.

He really must get himself together.

* * *

Newt actually does manage to nap for a couple of hours (Muggle transportation is such a hassle, but Portkeys are difficult to ascertain, particularly when one is still navigating a still slightly rocky relationship with the law), and as such is full of energy when Tina, Queenie — and Jacob! — return to the apartment.

“It’s nearly one o’clock,” Tina says in surprise.

Before he can respond, he’s accosted by Jacob, who claps him heartily on the back, then traps him in an overzealous one-armed embrace. “Good to have you back, Mr. English guy,” he says, grinning.

“You too, Mr. Kowalski,” Newt replies, put off but not overly disgruntled by this show of affection. It’s a novel experience, being welcomed so enthusiastically by humans; until now, he’s only received such greetings from his beasts. He looks at Tina, who appears tired but not disappointed. “Did it go well, then?” he asks.

She nods. “I got what I needed. Ogbourne’s got a whole gang behind him that MACUSA wasn’t expecting. Glanmore Gibson’s involved, too, which Picquery won’t be too thrilled about.” She grimaces. “There’s whisperings about a Lucille Wadcock pulling strings from Scotland, but I’ll have to look into that later.”

“Nobody knows what you’re talking about,” Queenie interjects helpfully, after everyone only exchanges blank stares in response.

“Oh, right.” Tina shakes her head. “Sorry.”

“You could tell me,” Newt pipes up. “If — if you felt like it. I’d like that very much.”

She seems far more surprised by his proclamation than she ought to be. “You really want to hear about my boring work drama?” she asks wryly.

He gives a brief nod. “I daresay you’ve experienced your fair share of _my_ work drama.” _Also, I missed you._

Jacob clears his throat. “We were thinking, me and Queenie, that we might take you girls’ bedroom while Mr. Scamander is here.”

Tina gapes. “Sorry, you decided _what?”_

“We’re practically married,” Queenie says in defense, “and if I spend too much time at his flat it might make people suspicious. There’s two beds in the spare,” she says, as though this clinches it.

Tina looks incredulously at Newt, then back at her sister, who’s perched in Jacob’s lap, one arm looped snugly around his neck.

“Oh, come on, Teen. Don’t be such a wet blanket. It’s almost the 1930s.”

Tina hesitates a beat more before sighing. “Fine. Don’t touch any of my books,” she instructs Jacob

He raises his hands defensively. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Miss Goldstein.” Then he adds, “It’s not like I can understand half of yous’ wizard jargon anyway. All this talk of dementors and dark magic?” He shakes his head. “One of ‘em Obscurius things was enough ‘dark magic’ for me.”

“You and me both,” Tina says wearily, “but unfortunately my line of work deals with dark magic every day.”

She really is remarkable, Newt thinks proudly. To have such drive and devotion to the greater good, to the point of sacrificing so much on a daily basis, is no small feat.

“Well, we better hit the hay,” Jacob yawns, smiling fondly up at his fiancée, who leans down and kisses him on the cheek. “I got a whole lotta batches to bake up before tomorrow night.”

“G’night, dolls,” Queenie says to Tina and Newt, giving each a stern sort of look which makes Tina sigh and Newt clear his throat several times.

There’s a moment of tense silence after Queenie and Tina’s bedroom door closes, during which Newt hides beneath his fringe and Tina scans the room as though on a mission to find a single speck of dust. They both start to speak at the same time.

“Oh, so sorry,” Newt says, motioning for her to go ahead.

“I was just thinking, we should probably…” Her gaze drifts to the spare room.

“Right, right,” he replies. They stand there awkwardly for a few more seconds, then both reach for the doorknob, brushing hands. “Sorry,” Newt apologizes — Merlin’s _beard,_ he needs to find a way to get himself together — and after much more hassle than should be necessary in entering a room, they both cross the threshold.

The beds are neatly made, Newt’s suitcase sitting on the ground. He sees Tina looking at it longingly, and his heart does something odd. “Do you miss it?” he asks quietly.

She smiles. “Yeah, a bit. I would’ve liked to spend more time there.”

“Well, I’d be happy to — to take you.”

Her face lights up. “Now?”

“Better not,” Newt says. “It’s quite late, and I wouldn’t want to excite them.”

“Of course. Sorry.” They really must stop apologizing to each other.

“D’you… if you wanted to tell me about your case?”

“Oh, that! Yes, uh… actually, I should go change, but I’ll be back in a moment.”

Newt makes some sort of noise of assent and sits down on the edge of one bed. He and Tina have had an unorthodox start to their friendship (relationship?). They’ve only spent two days physically with each other, and part of the awkwardness of not quite knowing somebody you fancy is certainly prevailing. That said, he has a sneaking suspicion that no matter how long and well he knows her, he’ll always feel like a bumbling schoolboy with a woefully unattainable crush. It’s madness, sheer madness.

“It’s not madness.”

He jumps and looks wildly around the room. “Queenie?”

She’s poking her head through a small window she’s magically cut in the wall. “I was just checking to see how you guys are getting on, that’s all,” she says.

“Yes, I’d — I’d rather it if you didn’t do things like that, without warning,” Newt says, still recovering from the shock. He pauses. “Is this how normal sisters act?”

“I’m illegally marrying a No-Maj I met while nearly getting killed by a dark, destructive force and battling the most dangerous wizard of our time. I ain’t got any sense of normal after that,” she replies.

“Fair point.” Newt thinks for a moment. “It’s… very nice.”

“What is?”

“How you are with Tina. I’ve a feeling she can get herself in a spot of trouble, see, and it’s…” He’s stumbling over his words now, which is never a promising sign. “It’s nice to know she’s being looked after.”

Queenie smiles. “Mm. And who’s looking after you, Mr. Scamander?”

“I —” But before he can say anything, Queenie disappears, the wall returns to normal, and Tina walks in wearing a modest pajama suit and no more makeup. Newt breathes a sigh of relief; he feels at least marginally less uncomfortable when she’s just Tina, like this. As though they’re on equal footing.

“Scrubbing all that makeup off was a real pain,” she complains, sitting down opposite him. “If I cared more about looking good, I’d go through that every day.” She shakes her head. “The woman I was impersonating tonight was pretty stunning, it was like playing dress up. Sometimes I think I oughta keep a strand of her hair for the next time I want to look presentable.”

Newt furrows his brow. She looks at him, then blanches, apparently mistaking his frown and silence for some sort of negative reaction.

“Oh, damn. Sorry,” she says.

“No, no,” he replies hastily. “It’s just… I don’t understand.”

“I don’t usually wear makeup, and it’s quite the ordeal.”

“Not that, I understand that. The other part. Dress-up?”

She gawks at him. “It’s when you put on other clothes and pretend like you’re somebody else.”

Newt thought Tina was highly intelligent, but this conversation is beginning to concern him. She clearly isn’t grasping the point. “But you’re already stunning. Forgive me, I just don’t understand why playing dress-up would be necessary, other than for work.”

She freezes when he says this. _Oh, bollocks. Good job you._ He’s gone and said the wrong thing again. He’s so accustomed to sharing his observations freely — publishing them in a best-selling book might do the trick —that he forgets the backwards social rules that seem to govern human conversation. This is why he misses traveling and his case: there aren’t rules there, and he’s infinitely more comfortable. Tina is still gazing at him, then inexplicably brings her right hand up to touch the side of her temple.

“Sorry,” he says, despite his vow not to apologize.

“Stunning?” she asks.

“Stunning. Beautiful.” He stops himself before he lists a multitude of similar adjectives. His essays always _were_ getting marked down for too many descriptive words. They serve him well on the field, where he devotes all his time to sketching and finding the words to explain these fascinating creatures, but didn’t fly so well in Transfiguration class and, evidently, New York.

“You think I’m beautiful?”

Isn’t that what he just said? “Yes.”

“Oh,” is all she comes up with. Newt looks around the room, twiddling his thumbs and wondering what on earth he’s supposed to do now.

“So this Ogbourne bloke, he’s a dark wizard?” he finally blurts out. This seems to startle Tina out of whatever strange reverie she’s fallen into — probably wondering how on earth Newt became so strange and dreadfully inadequate in the world of people and Normal Behavior — and, much to his relief, she begins talking. It’s a long and involved story, of course, told between increasingly frequent yawns, and by the time it’s finally over, they’re both curled up in their respective beds, facing one another.

“Newt,” she whispers, when he fails to respond to a question.

He jerks. “‘M still listening,” he mumbles.

She looks at him fondly. “Go to sleep.”

“Mm. Keep talking.”

She raises an eyebrow. “I don’t have anything else to talk about, and I’m tired.”

“Your voice.”

“What?”

“Keep talking.”

And so she does, just for a little longer. Despite months of nightmares and waking up every few hours to check on his creatures, Newt falls into a deep sleep, soothed by a voice that sounds like safety, home, and the promise of a new tomorrow. Around dawn, his eyelids flutter open briefly, and he’s immediately met with the image of Tina sound asleep, still facing him.

He closes his eyes and smiles.

* * *

Glossary 

**Goofy** : in love

 **The berries** : that which is attractive or pleasing; perfect (“That’s the berries!”)

 **Wet blanket** : killjoy; solemn person (who ruins the fun)

 


	3. Days may not be fair, always

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tina is not a morning person, Newt is the Picasso of magizoology, and Tina disappears. 
> 
> “You’re frightening me,” Newt says, jumping up to join her where she’s standing barefoot in the middle of the room. “What’s —”
> 
> “I have to go,” she whispers, even as she raises a hand and strokes the side of his cheek with her thumb. “It isn’t you.”
> 
> Chapter title from "Always" by Irving Berlin (1925)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, I'm sorry to kick off the angst so soon. I'd planned to write some filler sections (I might go back later and do them) but I'm anxious to get as much of this posted as I've already written, so bear with me.
> 
> Please leave kudos and comments to let me know what you think!
> 
> TW in upcoming chapters for depression and more serious subject matters. I promise there's plenty of fluff ahead.

_Week 1, Tuesday_

Queenie ends up waking them both, sailing into the room with tea for Newt and coffee for Tina. Newt, who’s developed the ability to function on very little sleep — and, much like the parent of a newborn, has become a light sleeper by necessity — sits up immediately, pushing his hair out of his face and yawning.

“Thank you,” he thanks Queenie, taking the cup.

Tina, on the other hand, is not quite so chipper. She hits Queenie at first, then pulls the covers over her head, then — mumbling something about jinxes — tries to reach for her wand (Queenie grabs it just in time), and it’s with intense and palpable reluctance that she finally comes out of her comatose state. Prepared for battle, Queenie presses the mug of coffee into her sister’s hand.

“What —”

Queenie shushes her as though soothing a petulant child, pushing the mug towards her sister’s mouth. “She’s much nicer when she’s had coffee,” she informs Newt, who watches in marked amusement. “Better?”

Tina groans and takes the cup. “Better,” she concedes. “Thanks.”

Queenie stands between the two, striking a rather authoritative pose seeing as the other occupants of the room are still seated. “How late did you stay up?”

“Uh…” Tina looks at Newt over the top of her mug.

“Er… I couldn’t say, actually. It was perhaps a little before… before three o’clock?”

 _"Really?_ ” Queenie asks, turning on Tina and then Newt, both of whom look suitably guilty. When Queenie became a mother figure Newt doesn’t know, but as he said the other night, it’s good to know somebody’s looking out for his… for Tina.

“What time is it?” Tina asks, stifling a yawn.

“Half past eight.”

“Ah. Half past — _what?_ ” Tina splutters. “Good lord, I — hang on —” She gulps down the rest of her coffee at an alarming rate, slams the cup down on the bedside table, and speeds out of the room. Newt blinks.

“She’s supposed to be at work in fifteen minutes,” Queenie explains.

“You couldn’t have woken her a little earlier, you don’t think?” Newt asks cautiously, not wanting to prompt the very obvious _you’re the one who kept her up til 3 am_ retort.

“Exactly,” Queenie says smugly, and leaves.

He doesn’t want to disappear on Tina, but he also realizes he’s fallen quite behind schedule with the creatures. He’s certain he’ll see her later, so he decides that at least in this moment, his beasts must come first. “Queenie?” he asks, peering into the living room, where the Legilimens is flipping idly through a magazine. “If you wouldn’t mind, would you let Tina know that I’ve gone to feed our creatures, but I’ll see her this evening?”

Queenie smirks.

“What?”

“‘Our’ creatures?” Newt feels himself turn red. She giggles and waves a hand dismissively. “Oh, don’t worry, honey. I’ll tell her.”

Shaking his head — he’d been aware of the reference in the letter, but this was a genuine slip-up — he flicks open his case and descends, hoping that somehow, some way, he’ll start to make sense of everything.

* * *

The day isn’t overly eventful and seems rather useless without Tina there. Newt goes through his usual routine, checking everything a few more times than necessary, and when he runs out of things to do he decides to try his hand at drawing again. It’s been awhile; since his book published, he’s had very little chance to put in the meticulous effort he wanted to. One of his greatest fears as an adventurer, writer, and artist is that he’ll lose the passion he has for his work, and it will become nothing more than a meaningless job.

He hadn’t minded the expulsion so much as he did the subsequent heartbreak — but no, now is not the time to dwell on Leta. At any rate, school was never really a necessity to him: frankly, he would’ve been content going into the field and starting his first book right then and there. Yes, he always had a passion for this, he muses as he looks around his surroundings. And he doesn’t want to lose that.

Time passes very quickly once he gets started. His beginning attempts are rusty at best — he breaks several pencils out of frustration — but by dusk, when he abruptly realizes how late it’s gotten, he has a stack of drawings, most of which he doesn’t hate. He lays them out on his work table and stands back, surveying them thoughtfully. There are a number of dragon likenesses: gorgeous creatures, so misunderstood, and if he could he would have spent much longer on that particular quest. However, a dragon in his suitcase is entirely out of the question, so he had to settle for some field notes, wound-healing, and one emotional reunion between a mother dragon and her eggs.

Other sketches contain some of the creatures he’d only seen in passing. He came across a particularly amusing group of flying seahorses while touring Scotland, and although he isn’t fluent in any aquatic languages, he got the distinct sense that they were laughing at his tour guide’s gaudy, floppy sunhat. Mackled malaclaws made it into his little portfolio; even streelers, which he had discovered being bred in Europe, were impossible not to draw, but also impossible to capture without artistic enchantments to depict their beautiful hourly color changes.

“I didn’t know you could draw.”

Newt jumps, spinning around to find himself face-to-face with Tina. “You bloody Goldsteins will be the death of me,” he mutters.

“Wow, these are really good,” she murmurs, inspecting each one closely.

It occurs to Newt to be embarrassed. “You really needn’t —”

“No, they’re really good! I mean, I saw the ones in your book, but these are so… raw.” She skims a finger over one, smudging the graphite slightly. “I shouldn’t be surprised, though.”

“Why’s that?”

“You seem to be good at pretty much everything,” she says. “It’s really annoying, actually.”

 _Everything except courting you._ Is courting even the word? Merlin, he’s hopeless. “That’s very kind, but believe me when I say that there are a plethora of things I’m extremely ill-equipped for.”

“Well, erumpent mating dances certainly aren’t on that list. I’ve heard you’re magnificent at those.” She grins at him, a distracting dimple appearing on her cheek.

Newt pales. “Jacob told you?”

“Yeah. He tried to replicate it and strained his thigh pretty badly. It was quite the show.”

“I really should have sworn him to secrecy on that.”

“No, it’s alright,” she says, smiling at him again. “It’s part of being my eccentric magizoologist.”

 _My eccentric magizoologist._ Newt finds himself staring at her, then staring into space, as he tries to pinpoint the implication of her usage of such a phrase. It’s probably because of what he wrote in that letter. Perhaps she’s mocking him? She didn’t say it in a mocking tone, but then again his acumen when it comes to distinguishing species of insects by their chirps has proven unreliable when it concerns the nuances of human voices.

Something passes over her face as he struggles to come up with a response, and before he can say anything, she’s turned her back on him. “Anyway, dinner’s ready,” she says in a flat voice.

Well, now he’s gone and done it. “Wait, Tina.” He hurries after her, grabbing her by the elbow. “It’s… fine.”

“What’s fine?”

“Did you — I mean, if you — I _am_ , you know… what you said. I wasn’t cross with you.”

She appears relieved (good) and shakes her head. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid I didn’t get much sleep last night, thanks to a certain eccentric magizoologist.” _Yours, to be exact._ “I get a bit tetchy.”

“Queenie seemed to use coffee much as a powerful antidote,” Newt says conversationally, as they head to the rickety stairs together.

Tina laughs. “Yeah, that’s about right. I’m great fun like that, Mr. Scamander. It’s going to be a real whoopee.” She’s being sarcastic, but Newt couldn’t agree more.

* * *

_Week 1, Wednesday_

There’s no warning. One minute she’s there, the next she’s quite literally disappeared into thin air.

It’s the crack of dawn when the floor creaks and Newt jolts awake, out of a dream in which a dragon was chasing a woman, a woman with short dark hair, who was running and screaming for help and Newt was helpless as the dragon shot a fireball and suddenly MACUSA was standing there, wands raised, and he wanted to scream at them not to fire but then they turned their wands on the woman —

“Tina?” he says, startled and momentarily disoriented. He sits up and rubs his eyes.

“Go back to sleep,” she orders in an uncharacteristically hard voice.

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing. Go to sleep.”

“You’re frightening me,” Newt says, jumping up to join her where she’s standing barefoot in the middle of the room. “What’s —”

“I have to go,” she whispers, even as she raises a hand and strokes the side of his cheek with her thumb. “It isn’t you.”

“Well, I’m rather thinking it _is_ me, given that I’ve only just arrived and you’re —”

“Please stop.” There’s a trembling urgency in her voice. When he forces her to look at him, the expression in her eyes will haunt him forever. It’s the look of trafficked animals he’s rescued, the terror and the terrible darkness that are only an echo of their suffering.

“How can I help? How — what can I do? Tina, please.” He grabs her by the shoulders, shakes. He knows how to tame beasts; he knows to nurse them back to health, to become Mummy to abandoned, helpless babies. But Tina is far more complicated — _beautifully_ complicated, he sometimes thinks  — and Newt is far too ill-equipped.

She shakes her head, dropping her hand back to her side. “I’m sorry, Newt. I have to leave.” And just like that, she’s gone, and he’s left clutching the air where she used to be.

* * *

“Teenie?” Queenie throws open the doors. “Oh, _rhatz."_

“What’s going on?” Jacob follows her, securing his robe around his waist.

Queenie’s gaze swings over to where Newt is standing, frozen and probably looking panicked.

“Hey. Hey, pal. Newt,” Jacob says in rising alarm when the other man doesn't respond. He claps Newt on the shoulder. “You okay?”

Queenie flicks her wand and the curtains part, allowing the thin, bleak light of dawn to flood the room. “What happened?” she asks, ushering Newt to the couch. “She left, didn’t she?”

“Can someone please tell me what’s going on?” Jacob asks. “Please?”

“I don’t know,” Newt says honestly.

“Right, yeah, that’s real helpful. Queenie?”

Queenie bites her lip. “I… I didn’t think it would happen while you were here,” she starts, casting Newt a pained, sympathetic look.

“Hang on a minute,” Jacob interjects. “Where’s Tina?”

“Gone,” Newt manages, and he knows his voice sounds dreadfully hoarse and unsteady.

“Oh honey,” Queenie murmurs, sympathy dripping from every syllable. She leans over and draws him into a hug. “She does this sometimes,” she explains gently. “You didn't do anything wrong.”

“I — I don’t understand.”

“Listen. Tina’s a strong woman. But she has these… episodes, sometimes. I can’t explain much more. She’s hurting, Newt, and” — her lower lip quivers; Jacob comes over immediately to put his arm around her and frowns at Newt, as though he's directly responsible — “and nobody can do anything about it.”

“You heard her Apparate?”

Queenie nods. “Well, sorta. I felt it, more like. The pain. Did she have a nightmare?”

“Not that I know of, no.”

“I see,” says Queenie quietly. “The thing is, sometimes they’re silent. Sometimes it’s brought on by a memory. Sometimes nothing brings it on, she just… changes.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Me neither,” Jacob chimes in.

“I can’t tell you more, please,” Queenie says imploringly. “Tina’s safe, that’s all that matters. I’ll be able to tell if she — if anything changes.”

It’s an answer, but a pretty rubbish one, if Newt does say so himself.


	4. Ev'rything went wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Newt meets someone who actually understands him, Queenie is Queenie, and our dear magizoologist feels even more of the feelings.
> 
> "It's okay, honey," Queenie says quietly, placing a hand on his knee and looking at him earnestly. "She doesn't open up to anyone, really."
> 
> "But even if she wanted to, I couldn't help. I don't know what to do." The thought makes him miserable. Miserable and much more vulnerable than he cares to be. "I'm not a very good Hufflepuff, you know,” he confesses. “I'm terribly awkward, and I annoy people."
> 
> Chapter title from "Always" by Irving Berlin (1925)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: the scene with Queenie at the bank is the first scene I ever wrote in this monstrous, 23k and counting fic! Oh, the nostalgia.
> 
> Also, I really love the idea of Queenie and Newt developing a close friendship. In the movie, she's the one who stops Newt as he's edging towards the door, and of course there's the Leta scene. I have future chapters in mind where I can delve into that relationship a bit more too, and I'm excited to see where those lead.
> 
> The next couple chapters will contain more of the deeper topics, but I'll give proper warnings accordingly.

_Week 1, Thursday_

The rest of the day borders on miserable for Newt. He _despises_ feeling useless. It doesn’t help that he’s been unexpectedly invited to a luncheon with several young aspiring zoologists and a couple of Very Important people involved somehow in the book industry (at this point, he couldn’t care less).

He goes, because he has to, and he doesn’t particularly want Queenie chewing him out for yet another thing — he still feels as though she must blame him for her sister’s disappearance. How could she not? Luckily, he has two things going for him: one, he’s already known for being reserved (which is code for “socially awkward”) and eccentric (which is code for “weird,” except where Tina is concerned); and two, even if he sits there and says nothing, he’s still potentially a great source of income for the important people.

As for the students, he does his best to answer their questions and maintain mundane conversation. However, at one point a young girl, perhaps sixteen (he discovers later that, being 20, she would have hit him on the spot had he shared this estimate), takes him aside and asks if he’s alright.

“Yes, I’ve just got a spot of — of — a cold, I think,” he lies.

She narrows her eyes at him a bit. “Are you sure?”

“Mmhm.” He really must get better at this fake smiling thing.

“Mr. Scamander, my mom works at MACUSA.”

“You aren’t going to haul me in for a section 3A, are you?” he asks wearily. A joke. Tina would’ve appreciated that. _Tina_.

She gives him an odd look. Who can blame her? “Anyway, I thought you should know that if this is about Miss Goldstein, you shouldn’t worry.”

Newt’s eyes fly open. “You know Tina?” he asks, a bit too loudly. A few attendees glance over at him. “Er… and puffskeins, they’re really — really…” Having successfully avoided suspicion (or not), he motions for the student to take a seat. “What do you mean?”

“Well, the rumor is that you two are a couple.” She looks at him expectantly.

“Oh,” is all he says.

“That’s it? Alright. Anyway, my mom is a receptionist, so she kind of hears a whole lot. It’s part of the job, y’know, minding everybody else’s beeswax.”

“Beeswax?”

“Business.” The girl looks at him as though he’s from outer space. “She heard Miss Goldstein didn’t show up for work but sent an owl that said she had a big lead on the Ogbourne case.”

 _You know about that?_ “I see.”

“Mr. Scamander…” The young woman hesitates. “Miss Goldstein is a very brave woman. I know what happened last year with Grindelwald _._ So I was just thinking, in case you’re worried about her safety, I think she’ll be okay.”

Newt deflates slightly. He was hoping for some answers, but is met with disappointment. “Ah.”

Rather than leaving him be, the young woman presses on. “What’s really wrong, then?”

“Nothing.”

“With all due respect, you’re a terrible liar.”

He’s momentarily taken aback by her audacity. Much like he would with a creature who’s just done something unexpected, he takes a moment to observe his interrogator. She’s petite, with a dark bob similar to Tina’s, and wearing a Muggle outfit that consists of a too-large jumper (although he’s given to understand that this is the style), white blouse, and pleated skirt with polka dots on it. Her name tag reads _Sophia Ollerton_. Ollerton: he must remember that. “I’m sorry, I don’t see that it’s really your business,” he responds.

“It isn’t.” She gives him an unnervingly astute look. “I just didn’t know if you wanted someone to talk to.”

“No, I’m — I’m quite alright, I think,” Newt stammers.

“Fine.” Then, out of the blue, “You don’t really like it here, do you?”

“What makes you say that?”

“You’ve looked uncomfortable and preoccupied this whole time.”

“I haven’t a clue what you’re —”

“Do you ever feel like you’d just like to be left alone?” she interrupts. He feels like her behavior is verging on rude and breaking several rules on Appropriate Conduct of Humans, but seeing as he himself has never fully understood proper societal conventions, he rather appreciates it.

“Yes,” he admits. “Most of the time.”

“Yeah.” Sophia falls silent, thinking. “Me too.”

“You want to be a magizoologist, then?”

“That’s kinda why I’m here?” _Obviously._

“Right. Well. What do you like about the field?”

“I really don’t like people,” she says matter-of-factly, scrunching up her nose. “Most of them, anyway. I didn’t know what I would do, especially since Mom and Dad are always talking about how I’m going to work for MACUSA someday, and that’s _all_ dealing with people. But then I read your book, and it just hit me. That’s what I want to do. I love magical creatures, I love the outdoors, and I hate being confined. Seems perfect.”

“That’s — that’s a very good answer,” Newt informs her.

“Thanks.”

“I like _some_ people,” he says after a moment.

She looks at him shrewdly. “Like Miss Goldstein?”

Despite the level of stress he’s currently smothering beneath, Newt smiles. “Yes. Like Miss Goldstein.”

“Who else?”

“Her sister, Queenie. And —” He stops himself just in time. _Damn_ those backwards American laws.

“Jacob Kowalski?”

He should hardly be surprised at this point. “Your mum?”

“Toldja. She knows everybody’s beeswax.”

A horrible thought occurs to him. “She won’t — she won’t tell, will she?”

“My mom? Nah.” Sophia shakes her head. “She’s been in this business for years. Doesn’t tell anyone anything. Except me, of course.”

“Isn’t that… well, isn’t that just a bit dangerous?”

“I mean, she only tells me things I need to know. When I read _Fantastic Beasts_ and I decided I wanted to follow in your footsteps, I asked her what she knew about you. She knows things about most people, really, even No-Majs. She told me about you and Miss Goldstein and Mr. Kowalski.”

Newt isn’t remotely sure what to make of this entire situation. He entertains the idea that he’s in a highly absurd dream, and will wake up to Tina smiling at him any minute, but alas.

“You’re not dreaming,” Sophia says, and he nearly topples off his chair.

“You’re not a — ?”

She scoffs. “I’m not a Legilimens, no. I know a bit of Legilimency. But you’re pretty easy to read, you know that?”

“To you, perhaps. To others, not so much.”

“Others like… Miss Goldstein?”

He considers telling her that he’s heard quite enough about Miss Goldstein, but then again talking to her is saving him the trouble of several dull conversations and faked smiles. “Perhaps.”

“I think it’ll be alright,” she says pensively. “It will work out, I can tell. You’re good together.”

“You aren’t a Seer too, by any chance?” Newt asks weakly.

“Oh, dry up,” Sophia snorts. “No, I’m just an intelligent and nosy 20-year-old. Haven’t you ever run into one, Mr. Scamander?”

“I have now,” Newt replies, and extends his hand. “Call me Newt.”

* * *

The luncheon turned out to be much more productive and, if not enjoyable, _interesting_ than Newt had anticipated. He bids Sophia farewell with the promise of future meetings — a promise he wholeheartedly intends to fulfill. Although he’s never cared much about having any siblings, including Theseus, he has to say that if he had to have a younger sister (or perhaps an assistant), someone like Sophia would certainly be his top pick.

By the time he reaches his destination, however, he can no longer keep concerns about Tina at bay. It can’t have been his fault. Queenie was very clear about that. However, there’s no escaping the fact that he upset Tina only hours before her disappearance. And the pain he saw in her eyes, the suffering… something must have happened. The thought is gut-wrenching; he still remembers her screams as they were being taken to the Death Chamber. Without a doubt, if he was given the option, he would sacrifice himself for her. But somebody or something hurt her in the past, and he wasn’t there. The thought distresses him immensely.

Sometimes he wonders what would have happened if he’d stayed last year. He wanted to; he wanted to turn back and ask Tina if she might like to have coffee with him now that the mess was all over. He wanted to get to know her, right then and there. But duty called, and he had to answer. The last thing he wanted was to have to choose between Tina and his beasts. Unfortunately, he suspects that someday he may have to.

 _Get yourself together,_ he chides himself _._ There are many things he’d like to do, or he should do, but what _can_ he do? Apparently, nothing.

One thing is for sure: he can’t do this anymore. He has to leave. And so, snatching up his jacket, he does.

* * *

It’s Queenie who finds him eventually. He’s sitting cross-legged and leaning on the cool granite wall of the bank, in the narrow alleyway where Jacob had once made his getaway with the wrong suitcase. She walks by quickly, ostensibly on her way home, heels clacking rhythmically along the pavement. Recognizing the flash of strawberry blond hair, he flattens himself against the building, hoping to evade discovery. He isn’t so lucky, of course; moments after Queenie passes, he feels a little tug in his brain and sighs in defeat as the Legilimens stops, turns around, and walks straight towards him.

“Newt?”

“I asked you not to read my mind,” he says.

“I couldn’t help it.” _People are easiest to read when they’re hurting._ “I know you better now, anyways.” He recalls how she’d been able to read Tina’s mind when they were sentenced to death, despite the physical distance between the two. Sisters as close as they no doubt shared some sort of deeper bond — one which he isn’t altogether sure he wants to develop with anyone, least of all a talented Legilimens.

The possibility of learning Occlumency briefly occurs to him, followed by immense guilt when he glimpses the flicker of hurt that crosses Queenie’s face, no doubt having picked up on his thoughts. Bugger. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes.

She shakes her head. “It’s alright. It ain’t the first time someone’s had that thought. It's only that I can't help it. I don't think nothing of it, really, until someone tells me to stop.”

“Right. I…” His voice trails off with his train of thought, subsumed by the echo of Tina’s words, followed by the sharp crack as she Apparated. _I’m sorry, Newt. I have to leave._ She hadn’t specified whom or what she was leaving, but it was a reasonable assumption — at least in Newt’s admittedly biased mind — that she’d meant him.

The expression of pity on Queenie’s face is quite enough to make Newt’s shoulders drop dejectedly. “Oh, honey,” she murmurs, offering him a hand. “Come on, I’ll make you some cocoa. Jacob’s at the apartment.” Her brow furrows in concern when he doesn’t make to move.

"I — I don't know what to do," Newt stammers, staring at the ground and fixating on a crooked crack, thin and barely discernible, with no end in sight. "I want to help. I don't know how..."

"Newt." Queenie sighs, shaking her head. "I told you, Teenie does this sometimes, disappears for a bit. It's nothing personal. I can’t — I can’t explain why. I’m sorry. That’s for her to tell.”

“I've only just arrived and she’s left,” he says, disliking how plaintive his voice sounds but caring very little at this point. Queenie can read his thoughts and emotions already, after all. He would think she should be able to read Tina accordingly, and _explain_ what's going on, but alas.

“Legilimency is complicated,” Queenie says after a beat. “I can’t read Tina like a book. And sometimes she” — she bites her lip, the same flicker of hurt from before visible — “she can shut me out.” It makes sense: Aurors must learn Occlumency for such a dangerous line of business. It must not be very nice for Queenie, however, to have her own sister close her mind like that. “She almost never does. Not fully, at least. But enough so I can’t piece it all together.”

Agitated, Newt runs a hand through his hair. "If she's hurting —"

"You're sweet," says Queenie. She smiles sadly at him. "You're a real nice fella. That counts for everything in my books."

"I'm afraid that doesn’t count for much if I'm useless when it comes to matters of the heart.” Newt falters. Darkness is falling rapidly. “You see, I'm not like you or Jacob."

"It's okay, honey," Queenie says quietly, placing a hand on his knee and looking at him earnestly. "She doesn't open up to anyone, really."

"But even if she wanted to, I couldn't help. I don't know what to do." The thought makes him miserable. Miserable and _much_ more vulnerable than he cares to be. "I'm not a very good Hufflepuff, you know,” he confesses. “I'm terribly awkward, and I annoy people."

Queenie is gazing at him with a combination of pity and concern. "Don't —"

Newt raises his head and gestures dismissively with his hand. "No, don't bother arguing, I know it's true. I don't mind annoying people. Except when it comes to Tina."

"You don't have to be anything different for her," Queenie says gently. "She likes you how you are."

"Yes, but if how I am is total rubbish at helping her —"

"She doesn't open up to people, Newt. Not since —" Queenie gasps, her hand flying up to cover her mouth. "Oh, damn."

Newt feels his stomach sink. Though he may not be particularly astute, he isn't stupid. "She had a... a boyfriend," he states.

"At Ilvermorny. Oh, she'll kill me if I tell you about him." Queenie looks at him bleakly. "It wasn't like you and Leta. Well. He was a taker, only much, much worse.”

"How do you mean?"

Queenie wrings her hands. "I can't tell you. If she hasn’t brought it up, then she isn't ready. It was years ago, anyway. It affects her more than she thinks or knows. But it’s part of why she disappears.”

"I understand if you can’t tell me," he says. "But do know that I've a long list of creatures I will happily set loose on this man."

Queenie's eyes crinkle. "Good. Oh, hang it. I only meant... there are reasons she's like this — closed off, I mean."

"I see." He doesn't know what else to say. "Queenie, if you don't mind —"

"Yes?" she asks, evidently eager to help in an attempt to compensate for her faux pas.

"It's just — Tina — well, if she was ever in real trouble, you would tell me... right?"

"Oh, honey," Queenie says, her eyes widening. "Of course I would! It isn't even a question."

"Because I _would_ like to help, however I can."

"I know you would. Teenie knows that too."

"Does she? I rather suspect that at this point she must have very little faith in my abilities."

“Baloney,” Queenie scoffs. “She’s all but carried a torch for you ever since she heard about Leta.”

Newt recalls her tearful question about Leta at the harbor. “Oh. I can’t imagine why. It was so long ago.”

“Oh, mercy,” Queenie mutters to herself. “Newt. Don’t be such a sap. She thought you were still in love with Leta. I told her, don’t take any wooden nickels.” She musters a small smile. “For once, she listened.”

Newt shoots her a quizzical look.

“Don’t take any wooden nickels. Don’t do anything stupid.” She pauses, then says slowly, as though not quite sure if she should be saying this, “Do you know what Tina thinks when she looks at you?"

Newt shrugs. "I couldn’t say.”

"When she looks at you..." Queenie bites her lip. "I wouldn’t be telling you this if I didn’t think it was gonna help. I ain’t done this before, told someone what the other person was thinking — least not serious, like this. You’re a good guy, so I think maybe I should.

“Like I said, being a Legilimens isn't like reading a book. I can hear thoughts, but I can feel them too. When Tina looks at you, she feels... she loves you, Newt."

Newt blanches. "Me? I'm sorry, we _are_ talking about the same person, aren't we?"

"Oh, dry up," Queenie says impudently, smacking him on the arm before sobering quickly. “Maybe it’s not love… maybe it’s too soon. All’s I know is that she hasn’t felt or thought that way since she met Alec.” Queenie sighs in defeat, realizing her slip-up. “Fine. That’s his name. But you can’t tell a _soul_.”

“You said —”

Queenie cuts him off. “Not many men actually like Tina, see. But she’s gone out with a few, and she never felt like that towards them. Aurors, mostly. Real good-lookin’ guys, and these ain’t dewdroppers.” She shivers, and it occurs to Newt that it’s dark and considerably colder than it was earlier. _Brilliant, Newt_. He stands and helps Queenie up.

“We’d better go back,” he says.

“And how,” she affirms rather unenthusiastically, teeth chattering.

“I’m so sorry,” Newt apologizes, feeling rather bad for keeping her out so long. “Here.” He removes his jacket and places it gingerly around her shoulders. “Almost there. I think.”

“You still don’t know your way around,” she chides him.

“Forgive me, but the last time I was here I ran all over the city finding magical beasts, trying to rescue the strongest Obscurial in history, and being tortured by the Darkest wizard of our time. I daresay I didn’t have much room to memorize the particular geography.”

“Well, you were right anyhow. We’re here.” They’re greeted by a warm draft of air once they step into the foyer. How they’d managed to avoid being caught by Mrs. Esposito is nothing short of a miracle; Newt often thinks she must simply be ignoring the presence of men on the premises. Or perhaps she’s been placated by the appearance of a certain book signed by a certain author with a certain very flattering inscription on her doormat.

The apartment is the closest thing to home that Newt has found, second only to his case. A fire crackles merrily in the fireplace, laundry drying lazily before it. Jacob is on tiptoes trying to reach the plates; as they watch, he stumbles and knocks a tureen off the counter, where it breaks.

“Shit,” he mutters, but before he can reach for it, Queenie removes her wand and repairs the earthenware, striding across the apartment to kiss him warmly.

“There you are. I was getting worried,” he says, and turns to look at Newt, who’s still standing awkwardly at the door. “Hey, come in. Your case is in the bedroom. I ain’t lettin’ nobody touch it.”

“Thank you, Jacob,” Newt says gratefully.

“‘Course. My Occamy’s in there. Think I’d let anyone take him?” He chuckles, then turns back to the stove.

Newt considers retreating to his case, but he also wants to finish his conversation with Queenie — who walks over to him and gestures to the spare room. “We were talking,” she informs Jacob, then mouths, _About Tina._

Comprehension dawns. “Ah.” Jacob nods. “Go on, then, doll.” Queenie beams, gives him another kiss, and follows Newt into the room.

“Did you want to go in your case?” she asks.

Newt shakes his head, strangely exhausted. “No. Here is fine.”

“Alright. I was talking about Teenie, wasn’t I? Anyways, the point is, she ain’t never felt this way about anybody else for almost ten years.”

Newt lets this digest for a moment. He highly questions the validity of the statement; even Leta Lestrange had harbored lukewarm feelings for him at best. Women have rarely, if ever, expressed romantic interest in him. Friendships alone are few and far between. He isn’t an Auror, he talks nonstop about his creatures, and he’s socially awkward. "You see, your sister is too good for me," he finally says.

"I know," Queenie replies immediately.

“Oh.”

She smiles. "But of all the men in the world, you're the closest to being good enough for her."

"Really?"

Queenie beams. “Of course!"

"I’m not very..." _Popular. Attractive. Masculine (referring to oneself as “Mummy” rather shatters the illusion). Clever._

Queenie scoffs. "Says _you_. Teenie wasn't popular when we was in school either."

Newt raises his eyebrows incredulously and shakes his head. "Now, that's just ridiculous."

"I was the social one.” Well, _that’s_ no surprise. “Tina kept to herself, mostly."

"But she's so pretty," Newt blurts out unthinkingly. Then again, “unthinkingly” isn’t really applicable to interactions with someone who can tell exactly what he’s thinking. He clears his throat and rephrases, “I don’t see how she wouldn’t be popular.”

Queenie flashes her dimples at him. "I told you, not many men agree with you and me."

"Then they're utterly mad."

"I thought the same. Teenie was always a little standoffish, and it didn't get any better after Alec. It's when she —"

"— when she smiles, or laughs," Newt finishes. “When she talks about saving people. I suppose these blokes didn’t get to see her in battle, or reading the paper, or the way she’s so — it’s the simple things, I...” He stops himself abruptly and hides under his increasingly unruly bangs.

Queenie looks at him sharply, then nods. "Yes," she concurs. "But most fellas don't look at that in women, brains and such. They just wanna know if the bank's closed, and if it is, they dump ‘em.”

“I never cared about those things,” Newt admits. “It makes me odd, but —”

“Oh, _no!"_ Queenie exclaims immediately. “Not at all! You and Jacob, you’re not like the rest of them. That’s a good thing.”

There’s a knock on the door and Jacob calls, “Dinnertime!”

“Oh, horsefeathers,” Queenie yelps, jumping to her feet. “I was meaning to make dinner.”

“Jacob seems more than capable,” Newt points out reassuringly. “I’m sure he’s an excellent cook.”

Queenie’s upset quickly turns to delight. “Oh! You ain’t had his cooking yet. It’s the bee’s knees!”

“I’m sure it is,” Newt replies, and follows her out of the room.

* * *

Glossary 

**Dry up** : shut up, get lost

 **Dewdropper** : a young man who sleeps all day and doesn't have a job

 **Bank’s closed** : no kissing or making out

 **Bee’s knees** : terrific; similar to “the berries”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The luncheon scene was entirely unplanned. I was planning to fabricate some sort of filler scene so it doesn't jump straight to him and Queenie, but somehow Sophia announced herself, as she's wont to do. She was supposed to be a secondary/supporting character but is now 100% a main one. Her big brother/little sister relationship with Newt is honestly as important as his with Tina.


	5. I've got those down-hearted blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tina is a mess, Queenie is once again Queenie, and they go back home.
> 
> Tina thinks about Newt, her Newt, who told her he would catch her, and he did. Newt, who cared as much about Credence as she did, who was willing to protect the Obscurial with Tina at his side. Newt, who’s so skittish and awkward and so clearly used to being alone. Newt, who looks stunned when people are happy to see him.
> 
> “Tina, at some point or other, you’re going to have to trust someone,” Queenie says quietly. “And I think Newt is a damn good place to start.”
> 
> TW goes into effect right about now. Please note nothing is graphic; however, this is not light and fluffy talk and could be overwhelming if you are sensitive to reading about others in emotional pain.
> 
> Chapter title from "Downhearted Blues" by Alberta Hunter (1922)

_Week 1, Friday_

Queenie is a clever woman. Despite her menial job, she knows this. And one of her greatest skills is understanding Tina. The Legilimency helps, of course, but it takes more than that to fully understand a person.

“When you’re on your own,” Queenie tells Newt when he drops by the Wand Permit Office, bringing with him one of Jacob’s pastries, “you kinda develop a symbiotic relationship with the other person, see. If you don’t, it’s not gonna work. That’s what happened with me and Teenie.”

Newt can think of quite a few creatures to compare this symbiotic relationship to, but thinks better of providing a list, as that was clearly not the salient point.

“We’re really different,” she continues. “It’s almost easier to understand her like that. It’s like learning something in school.”

“Did you like school, then?” Newt asks, surprised.

She smiles. “People don’t think I’d be the academic type. When we was at Ilvermorny, Tina was the smart one. I just liked the learning. Anyways, my point is, I _know_ she’ll come around, Newt. I promise.”

Newt hesitates. “I’d like to believe you, I really would, but it’s been two days now, and —”

“And she’s been gone longer than this before. She’ll tell me if she needs help. It’s hard, but you gotta trust me. You gotta trust us.”

“Where does she go?”

Queenie hesitates. “I’m not sure. It’s different every time. She doesn’t like being in small spaces, cities, places like that. Which is a real big dilemma, living here. She likes the outdoors.” She sees Newt’s expression and smiles. “Yeah, she’s perfect for you. Sometimes she Apparates a few miles away, sometimes she ends up taking the train somewhere else. If she thinks she needs a lot of time she’ll send an owl.” She pauses thoughtfully. “I don’t think she needs a lot of time, though. I think she’ll be back soon.”

Footsteps approach, followed by an irascible, “Goldstein?”

“Go. Go, go, go,” Queenie says immediately, shooing Newt away. “Take the back door.”

He ducks out of sight just in time as Abernathy rounds the corner. Breathing a sigh of relief — he’s already interfered with one Goldstein’s job at MACUSA, and although that worked out in the end he has no desire to ruffle any more congressional feathers — he steps outside the building and makes his way down the street.

Newt isn’t an overly trusting person, particularly after Leta. Neither is he excessively _dis_ trusting, which is why he does his best to believe Queenie. If she isn’t a trustworthy source when it comes to Tina, then he doesn’t know who is.

He hopes he might be, one day.

* * *

Porpentina Goldstein has a secret.

She hates the secret itself, but doesn’t care much about actually possessing it. Until now. Until Newt Scamander. Because he’s the first person she’s wanted to tell about it, yet cannot possibly bring herself to do so.

She’s currently camping out in a forest next to a lake, trying to sort through her feelings. This state... it feels like being surrounded by Dementors, all the time, and unable to shake them off. All she can feel is pain, occasional glimpses of Alec’s face, echoes of memories, her own warped voice saying horrible things.

It’s not just Alec: she knows this. The last thing she wants to do is pin the blame on an innocent party. (Not that he was innocent, at all.) Queenie’s always been eager to pin it on the guy, and Tina can’t find the words to explain how exactly she’s wrong. Just that this thing was always inside her; Alec merely brought it out. She wonders if this is at all how Credence felt.

At least before Newt, she didn’t have to worry when this happened. She felt horrid enough without having to ruminate over a stupid _boy_. Now? Disaster.

_I feel awful. I don’t know what I’m going to do. Newt doesn’t like me; obviously he doesn’t like me. What a fool I was to think he might. I don’t want to be here. Alec wanted to hurt me, therefore I’m worthy of being hurt. Newt will hurt me if I don’t hurt him first. Oh god, I’m going to hurt him. I feel awful. I feel sick. My brain hurts. Newt must be so angry. Maybe he’s gone. I bet he left by now. He’s all famous now, I’m sure there will be plenty of better options. I can’t get rid of this darkness. I can’t make myself stop feeling this way. Everybody leaves. I feel awful. I don’t want to be here. Every. Body. Leaves._

Her thoughts spiral, crowd and multiply in her mind until she wants to scream. She can’t. Suddenly there’s no air, and she’s suffocating. Her thoughts turn to wisps of smoke, impossible to gauge, impossible to explain to anybody.

 _I need Queenie,_ she thinks as she falls to the ground, dry sobs racking her chest.

And then, as is the near-magical nature of sisterhood, Queenie is there, cradling her tear-stained face and murmuring words of reassurance.

“Hey, it’s okay, Teen,” Queenie says softly, gripping her by the shoulders.

Tina can only shake her head, then nod, then shake her head again. She lets out a pitiful hiccuping, gulping sort of sob.

“It’s okay, honey,” Queenie repeats, and it is so impossible to Tina sometimes that Queenie is the younger one. The amount of times Tina has leaned on her, and given virtually nothing in return… “Oh, stop that,” the Legilimens says sharply. “You’ve given me everything. Just calm down now. Don’t talk yet.”

“I was just _thinking_ ,” Tina mumbles.

“Take your time,” Queenie says firmly.

When the chaos finally quiets, and the thoughts have been sufficiently chased away, Tina sits up, drained.

Queenie takes her hand. “Was it bad this time?”

“Yes,” Tina whispers.

“Because of Newt?”

Tina nods miserably.

Queenie’s face falls. “Oh no, honey. He’s not going to leave, you know that.”

“He might.”

“Look, Tina. Which one of us has been bombarded with his thoughts for the past week?”

Tina gives a faint laugh. “You,” she admits.

“Exactly. Now, you listen to me, you Dumb Dora. He. Will. Not. Leave.”

“It just brought everything up to the surface.”

“I understand.” Queenie looks worried, more so than usual. “Tina… I’m starting to think we might need to get you some real help.”

Panic bubbles up in her throat. “No.”

“It’s only that, well, I’m here for you, I love you, but I ain’t — I’m just your sister. I don’t know how to help you.”

“You’ve helped me for years.”

“But I’m scared one day I won’t be able to help you,” Queenie says, and her voice breaks. “I’m scared, Tina.”

This isn’t doing much to help calm Tina down. She takes several steadying breaths, then squeezes her sister’s hands. “I’m scared too.” She flashes back to when Queenie was barely six, a tiny mousy thing with big eyes and white-blond curls, and asks the question she always asked then: “But what do we do?”

“We manage,” Queenie says in a small voice, and for a moment, Tina can hear the little girl lurking just below the surface.

“Exactly. We manage. We always have.”

Queenie sniffles, then asks cautiously, “D’you think you can go back now?”

“I don’t want to face him.”

“He’s been worried sick.”

Something like hope, or relief, or happiness, or some other convoluted emotion fills Tina’s chest. “Has he?”

“Come on, Teen. He’s _your_ magizoologist. I think you need to talk to him.”

“About what?” Realization dawns. “Queenie, _no._ ”

“Do you wanna date him? Proper dating, not whatever phony bushwa is going on right now.”

“Of course.”

“Then at some point, he’s gonna have to know, and it ain’t coming from me.”

“He’ll leave.”

“He will NOT.”

Tina thinks about Newt, _her_ Newt, who told her he would catch her, and he did. Newt, who cared as much about Credence as she did, who was willing to protect the Obscurial with Tina at his side. Newt, who’s so skittish and awkward and so clearly used to being alone. Newt, who looks stunned when people are happy to see him.

“Tina, at some point or other, you’re going to have to trust someone,” Queenie says quietly. “And I think Newt is a damn good place to start.”

* * *

Back at the apartment, Newt sorts through his notes despondently and wonders where on earth everyone is. Jacob claimed he would be home early, and Queenie Disapparated with absolutely no prior warning. To be fair, he _did_ tell Tina to get entangled in drama and danger while he’s here, so perhaps she does listen to people, after all. That stubborn investigator.

“Newt?” Queenie calls, stepping into the apartment. “I think there's someone here to see you.”

He whirls around, knocking a pile of sketches off the table. “Tina,” he says breathlessly.

“Newt,” she replies with a little smile, looking beautiful and exhausted.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

She’s already tearing up. Oh, god, what has he done? “I think so.”

“That’s… quite a relief,” he says weakly.

“Yes,” she agrees. Then she steps closer, grabs the cuff of his sleeve, and adopts a serious tone of voice, reminiscent of when she’d told him about Gnarlak on the rooftop all that time ago. (He had frozen at the time, not sure what exactly was happening, but of course she meant nothing by it.) “Newt, there are some things I think I need to tell you about.”

He searches her face and finds no clues there. “Alright,” he says immediately, and opens his suitcase.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this chapter got a lot more emotional and somber than I originally planned. But yay for sisterly bonds, right? Also, I'm loving Queenie more and more.


	6. That's when I'll be there, always

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our favorite couple has a heart-to-heart on a burlap sheet in the middle of a meadow under the starlight, we learn about the mysterious Alec, and Newt puts his arm around a girl.
> 
> Tina’s staring at the ground, crying silently. Not knowing what else to do, Newt moves until their thighs are touching and gingerly puts his arm around her. She barely hesitates before burying her face in his shoulder, one hand clutching at his shirt. He’s never done this with a girl — woman — and hopes his inexperience isn’t painfully obvious.
> 
> TW: if you're uncomfortable with even implications of people wanting to produce non-con situations, skip this and go to the next chapter.
> 
> Chapter title from "Always" by Irving Berlin (1925)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this chapter and the next one were intended to be one long one, but that was just too much, so I've decided to split them into parts. Sorry for the cliffhanger. Doesn't it hurt so good though?

Newt has no idea what to do as they descend the staircase. Tina doesn’t seem to want to say much, and Newt figures it’s best to let her take the initiative in this situation. He can’t just stand there in silence, however, so he asks if she wants to help him make his nightly rounds. She nods.

The walk around for quite some time, saying hello to the creatures who come over to them and making sure everyone is well fed. Dougal is quite pleased to see Tina; he hops on her back like a child as they explore every nook and cranny.

“Here’s the occamy you saved,” Newt tells Tina as they approach the nest. “Well, the occamy you saved us from, I suppose.”

She says nothing, just strokes a finger along its back and smiles a little as it flaps its wings.

“I don’t suppose it would be helpful for me to talk about my day,” he supplies after several minutes of aimless walking.

Tina stops and looks at him. “Please,” she says simply.

“Perhaps we should head back? It seems we’ve run out of terrain, and I’m afraid I can’t make this suitcase any bigger.”

Tina shakes her head.

“Alright,” he replies. “Erm…” Glancing around, he points his wand at a nearby shed and Summons a thick burlap sheet, smoothing it over the long grass in which they’ve been standing. Wordlessly, Tina sits down. “Well, I went to a dreadful luncheon yesterday,” he informs her. She doesn’t say anything. “I, er, met someone, though,” he continues, and he can’t help but cheer up slightly, recalling his conversation with Sophia.

Her head snaps up at that. “You met someone?” she asks, sounding… upset? But why?

“Yes, a young girl.”

Her shoulders visibly relax. “Oh. How old was she?”

“Twenty. Her name was Sophia Ollerton. She said her mum is a receptionist at MACUSA.”

“Oh! Emilia Ollerton, yeah. She’s a nice woman.”

“Right. Anyway, Sophia was at the luncheon, one of the students I was meant to talk to, and we ended up talking about… well, about you. Not just you,” he clarifies hurriedly, in case he’s come off overbearing or downright creepy. It’s not as though he thinks about her _all_ the time. Just the vast majority of it.

Something suspiciously close to a smile is spreading across Tina’s face. “Really,” she says, ducking her head. “What about me?”

“She thought I was concerned about your safety, and told me that you’re very brave, which of course I knew. Her mum also knows about Jacob and Queenie, but Sophia seems to trust that she won’t tell anyone.”

“Why would she think you were concerned about my safety?” asks Tina, puzzled.

“Because I was more than a bit concerned about you leaving me. Leaving, I mean,” he corrects himself too late. “Not just me. You, leaving. And, erm, being upset. At any rate, she picked up on that — clever little girl — and asked if I was alright.”

“I’m sorry,” Tina says after a long pause.

“It’s alright.” Newt shrugs, trying to downplay the fact that everything in him has been screaming something along the lines of “THIS IS NOT ALRIGHT” for the past 72 hours.

“Tell me more,” she says. She really is very pretty.

“We got into a brilliant conversation, actually.” He relays the main points to Tina, who nods in appreciation.

“I’m glad you found her,” she says softly. Then, “Do you really feel like nobody understands you?”

Newt avoids eye contact, instead staring fixedly at a crease in the sheet. “Sometimes.”

“Newt.”

“Hmm?”

She falters. “I might not understand you, but I — I want to. You know that, right?”

He looks up, shocked. “You do?”

“Of course I do.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.” He has the faintest sense that she’s mocking him, and he is completely alright with that possibility.

“I had Jacob’s cooking for the first time,” he remembers.

Tina brightens up. “Did you see him cooking?”

“No, I was…” _Talking to your sister about you._ “I was busy.”

“Queenie and I love watching him cook. He gets all sweaty and talks to himself and _sings_.”

“I can imagine,” Newt says, grinning.

“Next time,” she says.

 _So there_ will _be a next time._ “Next time,” Newt echoes quietly.

They both fall silent. Around them, the only sound is of distant creatures calling to one another, leaves rustling, insects chirping.

“It’s nice, isn’t it,” he says after a long pause. “The silence.”

Next to him, Tina nods, arms wrapped loosely around her knees and sleeves upturned. The mellow wind ruffles her hair just slightly; Newt itches to smooth it back. Now is _not_ the time. “I really like it.”

 _I really like you._ Right here, in this moment, despite all the unspoken things hanging between them, despite the lingering fear that she is trying to somehow let him down easy, Newt feels more at home than he’s felt in quite some time. “Look,” he says, pointing to the enchanted sky, and starts naming constellations. “That one over there, I put just for my mum.”

“You did?” Tina says in a strangled sounding voice.

“She wasn’t too keen on her baby son going off into what I _suppose_ could be classified as dangerous territory and chasing magical beasts every which way. I told her I’d put a constellation in the sky, so when I’m caring for my animals she can still keep an eye on me.” Newt grimaces. “That sounds a bit silly, now that I say it out loud. But… she’s my mum.”

“No, that’s — that’s very nice,” Tina says thickly. He realizes abruptly that she’s teared up. _Job well done, Newt. That’s the second time you’ve made her cry._

“I’m sorry, are you…?”

“I’m fine, fine,” she says, waving him off, and although he wants to hover around her like a concerned mother graphorn, he doesn’t. Given that he seems to be making things worse every time he speaks, he opts for total muteness until his friend is ready to talk. He’s hyper-aware of the fact that they’re breathing in sync, their chests rising and falling ever so imperceptibly at the same time. This realization preoccupies him sufficiently until Tina finally speaks into the darkness. "Alexander Goulet.”

“Who?”

“Alec. He was my boyfriend, at Ilvermorny.”

“Ah.”

"We met when I was only fourteen,” Tina continues, and he despises the hint of sadness — wistfulness, even — in her voice. “He was a year younger, but popular with the whole school. He had a fan club."

"Sounds like a pretentious twat," Newt contributes.

"He knew he could have any girl. But he only wanted me."

"Understandable," Newt responds, before realizing what he said and hastily backing up. "That is — I mean —"

Tina lays a hand gently on his arm. "Thank you, Newt."

It’s a struggle not to jolt when she touches him; Newt still isn’t accustomed to physicality in general — partly due to his personality, partly due to being very British — and being thrown into a world where people seem to constantly be in contact is still a novelty. Trying to be a perfect gentleman (whatever _that’s_ supposed to entail), he makes sure to sit far enough away to resist whatever magnetic pull draws him to her. It isn’t just physical, he thinks: it’s something deeper, something intellectual and emotional. Their relationship (if there even _is_ one, at this point) is in its infancy, far too soon to make any proclamations, but still. It’s there, like Queenie said.

Tina looks at Newt questioningly. He realizes he’s staring at her and hastily averts his eyes. Thankfully, she continues unfazed, "We were best friends. We cared about each other.” She frowns, shakes her head. “At least, I thought we did. I rejected him the first time he asked me out, when I was fourteen. When I realized I’d fallen for him, two years later, I didn't say anything, because I assumed he wouldn't feel the same."

"But he did?" _Of course he did. Who wouldn’t?_

"He did — or he claimed he did."

"What happened?"

"He changed his mind."

"Queenie said —" Newt clamps his mouth shut, but it's too late.

"Queenie told you about Alec?" She sounds less angry than he feared she might be, which is a good sign.

"It might've come up, yes."

"Oh, god.” Tina groans. “How many conversations have you had about me?”

“Erm…”

“You know what? Never mind.” She pauses, a small smile playing at her lips, before looking back down at her hands. “Anyway. When we got together, Alec was busy with exams and we barely saw each other. That was fine, but even after exams were over, he just… wasn’t there for me. I thought I’d done something wrong. I confronted him a month into our relationship.”

Newt almost grins, imagining a fiery teenage Tina giving her boyfriend the same sort of speech she gave him during their first meeting.

She notices, of course, despite his attempt to hide behind his fringe. “Is something amusing, Mr. Scamander?”

“Nothing. I’m just visualizing a confrontation with 16-year-old Porpentina Goldstein.”

She makes a face at him. “Anyway, I called him out for not talking to me. I guess I thought I was gonna break up with him, but I didn’t _want_ to. That’s when he said we were just not romantically ‘cohesive’ but he wished me the best.

“At first, I thought we could be friends, that I was okay with it. But once exams ended we spent a few days together — as friends — and when I asked how two years of feelings could change so abruptly, he said he didn’t know. I guess I was holding out hope that maybe he felt the same and it was a heat of the moment kinda thing with him, too. But he told me bluntly that he didn’t like me. He did it so coldly, too. It didn’t seem like him.

“I was devastated by it. I’d let him in, I trusted him, he went out of his way to convince me that he would be there, and then he left. He’d said I was the only girl he had ever wanted to date. And then he left. I don’t…” Tina brings a hand to her forehead, looking dismayed.

Newt mumbles something vaguely reassuring, he doesn’t know what, but a moment later she collects herself and forges on.

“About a month after the breakup, I found out about his girlfriend. Being in different grades made it difficult to interact with the younger people, and I didn’t see him around — especially since I was trying to avoid him most of the time. But one day we ran into each other and agreed that we should catch up. That’s when he told me he was busy with his girlfriend. He said it like an announcement: ‘I have a girlfriend, so I’ll be spending time with her.’

“I lost it. You have to understand, Newt, I was… not a relationship person. I’m still not.” She looks pained; Newt wonders if it would be acceptable for him to move closer to her. He does, just a smidge. “I don’t just let people in. I never did. I had to be the strong one, you know, when Ma and Pa died, and I had a lot of… armor. I didn’t expect him to leave. If he left, everyone else was sure to leave too.

“In general, I mostly focused on my studies. My relationship with Alec was a — a deviation from the norm, I guess, and to know that he never cared, when I thought we were so close, shut me down. I never did find out who his girlfriend was, but I assume it was a prize pick out of his fan club.

“Once he’d sprung the girlfriend announcement on me, I ended the friendship. I told him he was a bad friend. He _betrayed_ me.” She pauses, brow furrowed. “When I told him — yelled at him, in fact — he looked… flat. He didn’t care. And then he walked away. I really had trusted him; nobody expected him to turn around and treat me this way.

“One day, my friend told me that Alec and his girlfriend broke up. Nobody knew why. It later came out that he jinxed her so she couldn’t tell anybody what happened. Jinxing an innocent girl for such a trivial reason…” Tina shakes her head. “That’s just wrong, but I was blind to it.  Queenie, who’s always been defensive of my feelings, came to me a few nights later and told me that she’d gone looking for him. She said it was surprisingly hard to get through — something I should have paid attention to, because why on earth would an underage wizard be learning Occlumency? — but he missed me. He still loved me. Despite what happened later, to this day she’s convinced his feelings at the time were legitimate and true.

“I got my hopes up, of course. Never doing that again,” Tina mutters bitterly. Newt moves just ever so slightly closer. “Anyway, I talked to him. He admitted that he still loved me, and we got back together. In total, we were a couple for two years.

“I _believed_ him, Newt,” she says, sounding distraught. He almost pats her on the knee but thinks better of it. “I made Queenie swear not to read his mind, or at least not to tell me. I thought I could turn him into an honest guy. I thought he would be humbled by dating his first, _real_ best friend — who _loved_ him — rather than all the insipid girls who fawned over him when he turned fourteen. I was wrong.

“He cheated on me.” Her voice is harsh, grating, and pained, a horrible combination that Newt very badly wants to erase somehow. “We’d gotten into an argument, and he claimed he thought I broke up with him. When I walked in on him and one of my classmates, he tried to hex me. I’ve been angry and guilty before, we all have, but I would never have hexed a peer — a _boyfriend_ — just because of that.

“I narrowly missed the hex and the girl took her clothes and fled. I started yelling, of course, and asked why he cheated. He said that he didn’t feel the same and hadn’t for quite some time. He said it was because he cared about me so much that he didn’t want to break my heart.” She utters a disbelieving noise, shaking her head. “Queenie arrived at the empty classroom just as he tried to use his wand to assault me with a paperweight. I ducked; he fired a Stinging Hex. Queenie started getting mad, and trust me, you _don’t_ want to see her mad. She took over, told me to cast a Freezing Charm while she disarmed him.

“Even after we had him incapacitated, he kept telling lies. I didn’t even recognize him, his charisma was just so… fake. He claimed that he even bought a Love Potion to try to fabricate feelings for me again. At this point, Queenie was furious. I guess the power of her anger — in defense of me — was so strong she was able to push past his barriers and start relaying the truth.

“It wasn’t that he didn’t care; it was that he liked knowing I was on his hook. He was flirting with several girls during our relationship. The Love Potion was to try to slip into _my_ drink when he became worried I wasn’t as interested as I had been. He was selfish and his obsession with being loved by other girls was frightening.

“He tried to argue with Queenie, but it was a Legilimens’ word against a teenage boy’s. I was distraught, of course. Crying, screaming, everything. The spells weren’t going to hold much longer and I could tell he’d fought back, closed off his mind, and Queenie couldn’t get in anymore. She gets this look, like she’s in pain, when she’s trying to get through to someone and they’re fighting it.

“But then, all of a sudden, the dam broke and her eyes flew open. She was white as a sheet. Alec looked straight at her, then, and snarled, ‘Go on, tell her.’ I grabbed his wand, hurled it at him, and the two of us ran before he could get us.

“Once we were safely in our common room, alone, I asked Queenie what Alec wanted her to tell me. She looked scared. It was the first time she ever wished she didn’t have Legilimency. ‘He’s evil,’ she whispered.

“It turned out that he — this 15-year-old boy — somehow had the capacity to cast Unforgivable Curses, and that during our duel it was only because of pity and witnesses that he didn’t use the Crucio Curse to torture me. But that wasn’t all.” Tina takes a deep, steadying breath. “Throughout the course of our relationship, he had considered using the Imperius Curse on me. He wanted me to do... _things_ for him, to him — things that would break me and I would have no control over. He wanted to make it so I could never say no again, and I wouldn’t be able to tell anyone, just like the ex-girlfriend he jinxed. He was a violent, messed up man.”

Newt doesn’t know what to think, or say, or feel. If he’s being honest, as the story’s gone on he’s been rather preoccupied constructing a list of which beasts he might use to punish this man. They all listen to him, of course, and although he tends to advocate Best Behavior (i.e. not attacking humans), exceptions could certainly be made... Tina looks at him bleakly. Is she expecting a response? “I — I don’t —” he stutters, and she shakes her head.

“It’s okay.”

“Well, it’s clearly not.”

“No,” she admits.

“He should go to jail,” Newt states tightly, once he’s gotten his thoughts in some semblance of order. He’s generally unaccustomed to anger; now, his head and heart are pounding with it. Tina’s staring at the ground, crying silently. Not knowing what else to do, Newt moves until their thighs are touching and gingerly puts his arm around her. She barely hesitates before burying her face in his shoulder, one hand clutching at his shirt. He’s never done this with a girl — woman — and hopes his inexperience isn’t painfully obvious.

“He did go to jail,” Tina says finally, lifting her head to look at him. “I didn’t want to be the one to tell. I was too scared, and I begged Queenie to say nothing. So I threw myself into school and got all O’s. I tried to forget about Alec; the important part was that he hadn’t used the Imperius Curse on me, but knowing what his intentions were… it frightened me all the same. I was scared he might try to get revenge. My friend William was the only other person who knew. He was like my big brother. Afterwards, he went with me everywhere.

“About two months later, Alec was incarcerated. He tried to do the Imperius Curse on a girl and was caught by Aurors visiting the school, who saved the girl’s… well, probably her life, honestly, and took him straight to MACUSA. That's when I decided I wanted to be an Auror.

“We don't know why he went dark like that. He just… didn't know how to show that he loved me, so he showed it the wrong way until it wasn't love anymore, it was a twisted… _thing_. And he knew there was something wrong with him; that's why he learned Occlumency. Queenie said that No-Majs call people like him psychopaths. Sometimes I think he belonged in a hospital more than a jail cell.

“Either way, I haven't seen or heard about him since. But he’s the reason I… I have trouble letting people in.” She grimaces. “It’s just… I don’t really trust anyone but Queenie. How can I? I lost my parents when I was a little kid, and they were the two people I was born trusting. I wasn’t very social, and Alec was the fourth person I’d trusted unconditionally, in my entire life, and two of those people were dead.” Then she smiles. “Queenie vowed that if he ever came near me, she would make him sorrier than he's ever been before.”

“I've a large number of beasts I hope I might willingly release upon his appearance,” Newt says, tightening his grip around Tina. Her fingers have loosened where they were entangled in his shirt, but he can still feel the warmth of her hand against his abdomen.

She gives a watery laugh, just as she had when they said goodbye the last time, and sniffles. Newt pulls away from her, left arm still wrapped loosely around her shoulder, just enough to tentatively swipe away a tear with his right thumb, tucking her hair behind her ear and skimming the curve of her cheek before letting his hand fall. To his surprise, Tina catches his wrist and turns her face into his palm, pressing her lips against it — no, undeniably _kissing_ it — gently before folding his fingers into the center of his hand and placing it delicately back in his lap.

It's a tender moment over all too soon, and Newt’s mind is racing. He stiffens from the initial shock of her motion, sucking in his breath sharply and drawing away. Unintentionally, he brings his arm back to his side, effectively breaking contact. And to top it all off, he's rendered completely mute, apparently incapable of doing anything but stare straight ahead, away from her.

He realizes how his behavior must seem a second too late. Tina stiffened when he did, and immense hurt, embarrassment, and a hint of anger danced across her face in quick succession. Now, she too refuses to look at him, jaw visibly tense.

“I'm —” Newt begins. He has no idea what he's going to say, but she’s clearly gotten the wrong idea.

“Don't,” she says through gritted teeth, unfolding herself and standing.

“Tina —”

“We should get going,” she interrupts coolly. “Thank you for talking.”

If Newt didn't know what to say before, he sure as hell doesn't know what to say now. All he can do is watch in horror as she clambers up the stairs ahead of him. She stalks off as soon as her feet touch the bedroom floor, leaving him standing waist-high in an enchanted suitcase, wondering what on earth he's going to do to fix this mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Or, in which your lovely author christens the villain with the first and last names of her two most resented ex boyfriends. If you want to learn about the real Alec, who is not nearly as horrendous but who I still heartily despise, you can go [here](http://academla.com/tagged/alec). The general storyline of their relationship, as well as the "romantically cohesive" quote and his "fan club," are 100% true to life. Who says fanfiction can't be therapeutic?
> 
> Also, can we just discuss Newt and the constellation dedicated to his mum. Like, imagine the romantic possibilities of being able to put constellations in the sky, in what's basically his true home. My poor heart.


	7. There's so much in my heart, and so much to impart to you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Newt finally says what he meant all along, and they both have to put up with Queenie and Jacob's untoward (but evidently warranted) involvement in their relationship (primarily the former).
> 
> “It can't possibly have escaped your notice that I…” He swallows hard and bravely perseveres, “That I have feelings for you. I’ve felt… fondness, Tina, for — ever since we met.” 
> 
> He thinks he hears Tina's breath catch but is far too terrified to look at her. “I don't suppose you might feel the same."
> 
> ALSO, we're in the clear with trigger warnings now. If anything else comes out, I'll alert all of you appropriately, but I don't have anything written yet that would warrant one.
> 
> Chapter title from “Honey” by Rudy Vallee (1929).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is, Newtina... or at least, fetus Newtina.
> 
> Thanks for all the comments, I literally smile when I see every one. I'm so glad people are enjoying this!
> 
> ETA: Rereading this at chapter 65 and I'm dying — they were so angsty! There are clear skies ahead for these two, at least in the relationship department :)

“Oh no, honey,” Queenie murmurs, having immediately entered the room after Tina stormed out of it. “She told you about Alec, didn't she?”

“Yes, and as always I was dreadfully inept in comforting her — abysmal, really.”

Queenie eyes him, pushing past the accent barrier and attempting to draw the memory from him. “She kissed you?”

“Just my hand. It wasn't even a proper kiss,” he says forlornly. “Not that I expected a real one. It’s just, I didn’t think she’d be so upset. I've never… I did not expect that from her.”

"Mercy Lewis,” Queenie breathes. “She told you everything.”

“Yes.”

“The Imperius —”

He can't stand to think about it. “Yes. _Despicable_ man.”

“What did you do?”

“I wanted to find this bloke and physically injure him, frankly. Another day, perhaps.” Queenie smiles appreciatively, making Newt feel marginally better. At least one Goldstein sister still likes him. “And she was crying, so I put my arm around her…?” Good lord, he's floundering.  

“Good. That's good,” Queenie reassures him.

He mulls this over for a bit, then says thoughtfully, “Queenie, I think she thought I didn't want her to kiss me, or that perhaps her experience with Alec tarnished my opinion of her, but that could not be farther from the truth.”

“You're probably right,” Queenie assents.

“I… my brain doesn't work that fast,” Newt struggles to explain. “Sometimes I freeze because there are too many things I want to say.”

“What did you want to say, then?”

“I wanted to say that —”

“Newt,” the Legilimens interjects suddenly, as though she’s just now come to an important conclusion. He’s still getting to know her, but from the look on her face he suspects she’s caught onto some sort of Tina Thought. She gestures at the door into the parlor, where Tina is sitting next to Jacob looking slightly less stony and drinking black coffee. _She really shouldn’t have caffeine this late,_ Newt thinks much more... _domestically_ than he’s comfortable with.

Queenie beams. “Exactly. Now go tell her now. Please. She’ll listen. She’s hurt, but she will.”

Newt blanches. “I can't.”

“Yes, you can.” She seizes both his hands in hers and squeezes his fingers with rather more force than is necessary. “Oh, Newt, you have to! Trust me. She’ll listen, I just know it.”

_What if she shuts me out forever?_

“Then she’ll have shut you out knowing _you_ didn't reject _her._ ”

Newt takes a deep breath and smooths his shirt, running a hand through his hair self-consciously.

“You look fine, you big cheese,” Queenie says. “Things are a bit balled up now, but it’ll work out if you follow my advice. C’mon, Newt,” she says quietly. “You know I ain’t kidding around.”

“You’re speaking in tongues again,” he says, not at all stalling.

“You’re a big famous author now, aren’t you?”

“I — I suppose so, yes.”

“You’re a big cheese, then. And this Tina business is balled up, isn't it?”

“Balled up?”

She utters a noise of immense annoyance. “You _do_ annoy people, Mr. Scamander, don’t you. Never mind. Go on, beat it!”

Newt trudges slowly out of the bedroom, half-hoping for another Obscurial attack to buy him some time. Tina freezes when she sees him. Jacob takes one look at them and clears his throat, getting up to join Queenie in the kitchen.

Tina sighs. “Look, Newt, I'm really tired and I —”

Newt sits down next to her and starts talking, because if he gives it another moment of thought he knows he’ll clam up again and produce disastrous results. “I hate what that man did. Hearing about him, I didn't know what to say, because truth be told, what I wanted to say was not going to be terribly nice.

"About him, not about you,” he clarifies hastily. “I assumed you would not want to hear me rail against him when you were in the midst of such a confession. Which I appreciated, by the way. I, erm... thought that might be important to include.”

He glances up and catches Queenie and Jacob very obviously eavesdropping. Jacob immediately starts whistling a little too casually and pretends to straighten a placemat, while Queenie doesn't bother with pretenses and shoots Newt a very authoritative look.

 _Alright, alright. Enough now._ “It cannot possibly have escaped your notice that I…” He swallows hard and bravely perseveres, “That I have feelings for you. I believe that's — that's what you say. I have felt a certain, er... fondness, for you, ever since" — he clears his throat and frowns slightly, trying to pinpoint exactly when this all began — "well, ever since we met.”

He’s starting to unravel. _T_ _hat’s_ no good. He can feel Queenie’s eyes on him. Really, for that woman to call _him_ annoying is the pot calling the cauldron black if it ever did. _Stop blabbering._

“I… fancy you," he states, and instantly cringes at his word choice. What, is he a teenage boy again? He thinks he hears Tina's breath catch but is far too terrified to look at her as he confesses, “I don't suppose you might feel the same.

"When you told me about Alec, I did not judge you for it. I reckon you must be very strong, stronger than I previously knew, to have goften though such horrific events. Even — even if they didn’t happen. He hurt you, and I wish I could…” Something tells him that it’s bad form to tell a woman you’ve really only just met that you’d take an Unforgivable Curse for her anytime. He shakes his head and continues,

“If anything, I was concerned that you would never care for me, because of what he did. I would understand completely, but forgive me when I say that was not a particularly desirable outcome.

“If you did care for me, I worried you might not trust me. Tina, I would never —” He stops short to collect his thoughts. “I would _never_ do anything like what that… that man did, or wanted to do.

"And I know he was only a student, but to think up such twisted plots makes him a man. At least, that’s how I see it. Er... Theseus taught me that, see, after the war.”  _Off topic, Newt. Don’t lose it now._ He rights himself, “The thing is, I'm not known for being particularly capable in relationships, and I worry that I may not be able to earn — _deserve_ —your trust. Which is why I was shocked when you...” He gestures to his palm. “It — it planted false hope that you may…” Desperately, he says all in a rush, “Nobody has ever wanted me before. Nobody has ever done that.”

Granted, he and Leta kissed a couple times, chaste and void of the feeling that _seemed_ to have been conveyed through Tina’s single, equally chaste kiss (although at this point he rather thinks he’s the least trustworthy person in the world, quite possibly the universe).

Of course, he’d had a handful of encounters with women throughout his travels — and has since received a rather disturbing letter from a self-professed flapper (“Gold digger’s more like it,” Queenie had said definitively when he confided in her) blatantly propositioning him — but never allowed it to go very far, finding each ultimately unappealing and clearly disinterested in his passion for beasts. Not like Tina, who looks at his suitcase as longingly as he does, who _wants_ to be part of his creatures’ (his children’s, he sometimes thinks) lives.

Now, he hides behind his bangs and hopes for the best. “I just… I did not want to do something wrong. I couldn't say anything before you got angry. And I'm _ever_ so sorry for rambling like this, but I've been informed by a trustworthy, if unnecessarily _nosy_ Legilimens” — he raises his eyebrows pointedly at Queenie, who looks very self-satisfied — “that one of these days I ought to start telling people how I feel. I never much felt the need to, because I suppose nobody was worth the bother. But you are, Tina. You're worth all the — all the bother.”  _All the bother._ It doesn’t get more romantic than that.

He groans internally. That was a _trainwreck._ However, a tiny cough from the kitchen catches his attention, and glancing up, he sees Queenie give an approving nod and little wink.

He lifts his head at the feel of Tina's hand on his knee. She leans forward, forcing him to look her in the eye. “It's not false,” she says slowly.

“I beg your pardon?”

“It's not false hope.”

“Ah. Meaning…?”

She takes both of his hands in her own. “I fancy you too.”

His eyebrows shoot into his hairline. “You — sorry, what?”

“I do. But Newt… what I told you, it's the reason I'm closed off. I have… I have intimacy issues.” She cringes. “That's what Queenie calls them.” In the corner, her sister shrugs sheepishly.

“Oh.” Newt furrows his brow, trying to piece together what she’s saying.

“So I can't — I can't emotionally —”

Newt finally catches on. “Oh. Oh, no! I would never, you know. Ever. You can — you can always tell me. Er, I’ll most likely always be _amenable_ , of course, but I would never… force you into anything.

"If I do, I give you full permission to fire every hex you know on me. Queenie, too, and the whole of MACUSA.” The fact that she thinks he would be experienced enough in that particular skill set to even pressure her is actually considerably flattering.

A mixture of relief and hopefulness dawns on Tina’s face. “Really?”

How could she have thought otherwise? “Of course. To be quite honest, I am just content knowing that I’m not about to lose you to some posh, manly Auror.”

Tina laughs. “Trust me, if you’ve seen the male Aurors I work with, you wouldn’t feel the least bit threatened.”

 _No, I probably still would._ Unfortunately, it would seem that this comment has planted a new fear: that someone will come along and _actually_ fall for Tina, see in her what Newt does, and she will invariably choose the other man.

Nonetheless, he smiles, genuinely _smiles,_ for what he realizes is the first time since Tina disappeared, and glances over towards the kitchen. Queenie and Jacob, who were still watching and whispering to one another until this point, scurry into their room.

“We’ll get used to the two of them,” Tina says, sounding amused (and tired; she’s had an incredibly trying past few days, he remembers guiltily) rather than perturbed.

Newt turns back to her. “If we could get used to hauling a case of magical creatures across all of New York City whilst evading capture by Gellert Grindelwald, I am certain we will.” He likes that, the “ _we_.”

“I’d better help Queenie with dinner,” Tina says after a slightly awkward silence. Newt suspects that there are going to be many slightly awkward silences, and he looks forward to every one.

He falters for a minute as they both stand and Tina makes to walk into the kitchen. Praying that his judgment is on target, he catches her by her wrist, just as she had done his, to abort her movement. Then, daringly, he leans forward and plants a quick kiss on her cheek.

When he pulls away, he’s pleased and relieved to see her beaming before ducking her head. For being such an incredibly tough, accomplished, and courageous Auror, seeing Tina behave as fumbling and new to this as he is tremendously satisfying.

Newt gives a little nod and follows her wordlessly into the kitchen, where the other two have cautiously emerged from their bedroom.

He must remember to thank Queenie someday.

* * *

Glossary

**Balled up** : confused; messed up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I hope that sates your Newtina cravings for now. This conversation is pretty near and dear to my heart, actually, because it's a struggle I've undergone again and again in the dating world. Being demisexual doesn't always sit right with hormonal young men (although it's thankfully less so as I've gotten older), so I'm really just looking for my Newt Scamander, who will take it slow and treat me as carefully as he treats his wounded beasts.
> 
> Anyhow, please leave comments and kudos as always :)


	8. For nobody else gave me a thrill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Newt and Tina stay up til 3 am again drinking hot chocolate, baking cookies, and getting to know each other; Newt carries Tina to bed; and Queenie and Jacob have horrible timing.
> 
> Really, just pure, unabashed Newtina fluff to soothe the wound of the last couple chapters. You're welcome.
> 
> Slowly, Tina reaches up to brush his fringe to the side, then slides her hand down to press against the side of his cheek. In an action that does peculiar things to Newt’s entire body and being, she runs her thumb across his bottom lip. He’s frozen, can only look into those endlessly fascinating brown eyes...
> 
> Chapter title from “It Had To Be You” by Isham Jones (1924).

_Week 1, Friday_

They spend the evening playing wizard’s chess (Tina wins) and attempting a Muggle game called American mahjong, which is apparently all the rage (Jacob wins), laughing and taking it in turns to tell stories from their youth. The others listen in awe as Newt relates some of his more recent escapades, ones that didn't make it into the book. Tina and Queenie bicker over adventures they experienced together; when Tina dares bring up how many boys Queenie had kissed by age 13, Jacob scowls until Queenie perches herself in his lap, looping her arms around his neck and giving him a proper kiss. Newt and Tina look laughingly at one another in the warm light of the fireplace, and something about it feels so much like home that Newt he aches with it.

Later, once Queenie and Jacob have retired to their room, Tina makes hot cocoa and brings it into the bedroom. She and Newt sit on the floor like children at a sleepover, sipping their drinks and talking as though they can't get enough, as though they must learn everything they can about each other. He hears about Tina's favorite subjects in school, her pet peeves (several of which he's already committed), and how she broke her arm showing off when she was six. She gets to know his family, openly envying his mother and brother but admitting that in some ways, her and Queenie’s familial situation was much less complicated. This is better than anything he could have ever hoped for in returning to New York, Newt thinks blissfully as he watches Tina giggle hysterically at what he considered to be a very poor joke. She teases him for his British vernacular, but then proposes that they make “biscuits” when he mentions how much he misses his mum’s baking.

“It's nearly one o’clock,” he points out.

“I know,” she replies flippantly.

“As you wish,” he concedes in amusement, and follows her into the kitchen, where she shows off her wand work and teaches him a few baking charms as well (his don't produce quite the favorable results that hers do, but she encourages him nonetheless and expertly prevents a few minor house fires). They pile the cookies onto a large plate to cool while Newt cleans up and Tina goes to change into her pajamas. It feels... domestic, he realizes. It's a pleasant, warm sensation, but markedly less so remembering that it's also ultimately unattainable — or at least unsustainable.

The idea of marriage or anything akin to it has never appealed to him. Much as he may adore any potential partner, his beasts come first, and there is always going to be a part of him that has to wander. He can't guarantee a stable household or take on a 9-5 job. He can't drop everything for someone else, just like that. His love for another person may be as strong as anything he's experienced, but he knows he will never be able to give up his beasts or his freedom for anyone. Very few women, if any, are willing to be with a man so thoroughly in love with nature and his creatures. Rightfully so. Tack on his deficits in the realm of social skills, and Newt understands that his chances of ever finding a Mrs. Newt Scamander are slim to none.

Tina emerges then, wearing a plaid nightgown. Hands on hips, she surveys the spotless kitchen, giving an impressed nod of approval. “Not bad, Mr. Scamander.”

“You look very nice,” Newt replies, pushing his bangs off his forehead.

“Oh, stop it,” she says, ducking her head, then reaches for the plate of cookies. She looks back up at him, shyly. “Really?”

Newt quirks the corner of his mouth. “Without a doubt.” He washes his hands and then flicks them, still wet, at her. Giggling, she swats him with a dish towel. He doesn't recall this particular experience of being younger, but he's certain this is behavior more characteristic of teenagers. If it is, neither party could care less.

They return to the bedroom, and together manage to eat almost the entire batch of cookies while still discussing every topic under the sun, from biographical facts to worldly views to their most embarrassing stories.

It's nearly 3 am (again!) when they finally crawl into their respective beds — at least, _one_ of them crawls. Tina has been falling asleep for the past half hour; Newt is sat with his back against the foot of his bed, and at some point Tina moved over so that she could lean her head on his shoulder as they talked. He suggested a nighty night several times, and each time Tina waved him off, claiming she was wide awake and they were in the middle of a very important conversation. “Come on, Tina,” Newt whispers now, peeling her slowly off of him. “Up you go.”

“Mmph.”

She's heavier and stronger than he anticipated, and makes a big show of going limp as a rag doll when he tries to hoist her up. “Oh, don't be ridiculous,” he says in mingled amusement and vexation. Relenting, he eases them back to the ground while he tries to think up a better solution, absentmindedly running a hand through her hair as he does so.

Being a gentleman, after all, he doesn't want to leave Tina on the cold floor all night. However, she clearly doesn't plan to move of her own volition. After a moment of conflicted thought, Newt leans down and picks her up in his arms in what Queenie later informs him is a “bridal carry.”

Immediately, Tina curls into him, tucking her head beneath his chin and laying one hand directly over his heart. He's quite accustomed to carrying squirmier and more strangely shaped creatures, but this is Tina. He finds his knees going a bit weak at the intimate contact, a fact which has nothing to do with his muscular integrity.

It's only a few feet to the bed, but Newt spends more time than he cares to admit standing in place. He assumes that she's asleep by now, making it entirely acceptable. Eventually his arms get tired and he places her gently on the bed, carefully drawing the sheets over her legs and arranging the pillow. He treats her, in short, with the same tenderness and ministrations which he uses with his most precious beasts.

“Right,” he mumbles to himself once he's finished tucking her in properly.

Halfway to his respective bed, he stops, unable to resist the urge, and pads back over to Tina's side. After only a fleeting moment of hesitation, he leans down, kisses her on the forehead, and caresses the side of her cheek once with his thumb before shaking himself out of this odd reverie.

He's actually quite exhausted, the energetic night itself taking quite a lot out of him, not to mention the past few days’ tumultuous events. Perhaps Queenie and Jacob are right: he isn't eating enough. He eyes the plate in the corner, now occupied by only a handful of the biscuits they’d baked and gives a fond little smile. If Tina wanted to cook for him every day, he most certainly would not skip a meal ever again… but that's a dangerous path of theoreticals to go down at this hour — or any hour at all, really.

“Right,” he repeats, and slides under his covers.

Behind him, Tina smiles.

* * *

_Week 1, Saturday to Monday_

Newt wakes up to an apartment quite literally filled with owls, one of which was apparently instructed not to let its message go unanswered and tries to attack Newt until Tina comes up with an adequate counter-charm. Between the two of them, they begin opening each envelope. The letters are primarily from publishing companies and bookstores, although there are a few that Tina reads, wrinkles up her nose, and tosses into the bin. It turns out that his attempts at anonymity have been thwarted by a loose-lipped bartender.

“Want me to jinx ‘em for you?” Tina asks lazily Saturday afternoon. They’ve built a makeshift niche in his suitcase, a ground-ridden treehouse of sorts. She’s filling out paperwork right now, leaning comfortably against the arm of a bench Newt quite proudly fashioned without magic, and shifts to rest her feet on Newt’s lap as he sits down beside her.

“Miss Goldstein!” he says in pretend shock. “I don’t think that’s in the Auror… code of honor.”

She raises an eyebrow at him. “Code of honor?”

“I’m not an auror, so I can’t very well be expected to know how these things work. Particularly in America, which I know has a penchant for instituting the most absurd laws — oi!”

She chucks a wad of paper at him playfully, then settles back down. Newt rests his hands cautiously on her ankles, unsure what else to do. He has to admit, being with Tina is the best use of time he can imagine. Although he’s doomed to be, well, _him_ , by nature, he finds himself far more relaxed in her presence. He’s learning how to joke and, except for moments when she looks particularly pretty or moves in close proximity to him, he has generally gotten a hold on the stuttering as well.

“You get a little crease between your eyebrows, you know, when you’re concentrating,” he says conversationally, tapping Tina on the forehead gently with his finger. “Right there.”

She jolts, and he realizes she was probably quite engrossed in her work, making the interruption unwelcome and startling. “Mercy, Newt.” Then she frowns at him. “Are you calling me old?”

“What?” he says in alarm. “No, I —”

“Newt.” She sits up and lays a hand on his arm. “It’s fine.”

“Oh.”

A moment passes, and then something makes her smile. Pushing her hair out of her face, she asks in an odd tone of voice, “Do you do that to everyone?”

“Do what?”

“Watch them like that. Make observations. It’s not bad, it’s just… unusual.”

“No,” Newt says, suddenly feeling rather shy, “no, it’s just you.”

She settles back down, a strange look on her face. “Oh.”

They don’t talk again for quite some time, during which Newt compiles a list of materials to gather the next time he’s at the market. Although he feeds his beasts primarily with magical vegetation and prey, he’s discovered that some Muggle substitutes are quite suitable and much easier to acquire during trips such as these.

Last night still plays in his mind, seemingly on loop. He knows that Tina supposedly feels the same, but does she, really? Perhaps she’s this talkative with everyone; while he’s reserved to the rest of the world, she isn’t. She didn’t fight him off when he picked her up… then again, she could have actually been sound asleep or too tired to think straight. As for Newt, getting so little sleep — as well as several late nights leading up to his arrival — inevitably catches up with him, and before he realizes it, he’s dozed off.

He wakes to Tina shaking him gently. “Newt,” she says softly, then, a bit more impatiently, “ _Newt._ ”

“Mmph.” He throws an arm over his face and rolls over on — where _is_ he, anyway?

“I didn’t think you’d want to sleep on a wooden bench, so I brought you your cot,” Tina explains, where she’s seated at his head, and he isn’t sure if she realizes that she’s casually stroking his forehead with one hand, frowning at the piece of paper in her other. He certainly isn’t going to stop her.

“Thanks,” he mumbles.

“We really should be getting back, though,” she says apologetically.

“What time is —” He glances outside and realizes the sun is already setting. “Oh, bugger.”

Tina offers him a hand, hoisting him to his feet. “It’s fine,” she says, and they head back to the stairs together.

* * *

Once in the apartment again, Tina starts setting places for dinner. Newt loiters awkwardly by the sink, one hand in his pocket and the other rubbing his neck, which got quite cramped during his nap. “So, uh, what did you do while I was sleeping? So sorry about that, by the way.”

Tina glances over at him, giving a little smile before looking back to the stove. “Really, it’s fine.” She sends a placemat sailing through the air to land at one setting. “I finished my paperwork early, actually. I guess once you piped down I was finally able to get some work done, huh.”

Newt coughs, not entirely certain how to reply to such a jest. Tina doesn’t seem to mind.

“I did a little… investigating, when we were in your case,” she says impishly after a beat, stirring a pot on the stove and adding a few chopped up carrots.

Newt freezes. “Dear god, what did you find?”

She gives a sly grin. “Nothing of interest… Newton Artemis Fido Scamander.”

“Merlin help me,” Newt groans. “ _Must_ you?”

Tina laughs. “I must. It’s a lovely name.”

“Mm.” Newt crosses his arms, leaning back on the countertop next to her as she cooks. “I _did_ try valiantly to keep that particular tidbit about myself hidden from you, but I forgot that you’re the best investigator on the force.”

“Shame,” Tina replies. “You know, I thought you had a bit of an unfortunate family name, but Newton Art —”

Impulsively, Newt comes up behind her and slaps his hand against her mouth before she can finish saying it. She squirms, laughing all the while, and finally manages to push him away, spinning around in his arms to shake her head. “The in _decency_ , Mr. Scamander,” she reprimands him, grinning. He feels the same bubbly, euphoric sensation as the night before, and suspects that once again they’re acting like teenagers.

“It’s not _my_ fault if you insist on informing the world that my parents, though well-intentioned, chose one of the most unfortunate names they could have done. I suppose it was to compensate for Theseus’s lack of a middle name.”

“Not the _world_ , just me,” Tina replies.

“Yes, well, same difference,” Newt says. A moment later, he registers the words that just came out of his mouth, and grimaces, getting ready to… what, apologize? A hand on his chest stops him. Suddenly, he realizes that neither he nor Tina have moved since she’d freed herself of his grasp, and that she is in fact much closer than could possibly be considered incidental.

Slowly, she reaches up to brush his fringe to the side, then slides her hand down to press against the side of his cheek. In an action that does peculiar things to Newt’s entire body and being, she runs her thumb across his bottom lip. He’s frozen, can only look into those endlessly fascinating brown eyes, and…

The door of the apartment flies open. “Tina?” calls a breathless Queenie. “I’m sorry, we’re horribly late, I — oh.” She halts abruptly; Jacob, who was walking behind her, nearly topples over.

Newt realizes exactly what they must look like: centimeters apart, Tina’s hands cradling his face, his own hands resting around her waist. They both stare at each other, then at Queenie and Jacob, in horror. After a beat, Tina clears her throat while Newt spins around, also nearly topples over, and then opens the refrigerator door and leans down as though searching for something.

“I started dinner,” Tina says carefully, in a very even voice.

“I can — I can see that,” Queenie replies.

Silence prevails. Nobody looks at each other.

“Well, uh, this is awkward,” Jacob finally says.

“Queenie?” says Tina through gritted teeth from where she’s holding onto the handle of a saucepan for dear life, despite the fact that the charmed wooden spoon is stirring rhythmically of its own accord. “Wanna give me a hand?”

“Oh, yes — yes, of course,” Queenie says immediately, startled out of her reverie. “Here.” She finishes taking off her jacket, handing it to a very uncomfortable looking fiancé, and gets to work, waving her wand gracefully and sending cutlery, ingredients, and tableware flying around the kitchen. Tina refuses to acknowledge Newt’s presence, Queenie is casting him irritatingly concerned looks, and Jacob has barricaded himself in the bedroom. Newt excuses himself, mumbling something about his suitcase and hoping desperately that the awkwardness will have dissipated by the time dinner is ready.

It’s Jacob who finds him fifteen minutes later. Newt’s sitting on the ground, letting Pickett chatter away as he stares into space and contemplates the almost-kiss (that _was_ what it was, right?).

“Hiya,” Jacob says, joining Newt. “You okay?”

“Jacob, Queenie likes you,” Newt says, turning to him.

“I’d sure hope so, seeing as she’s my fiancée and all,” replies Jacob.

“How did you manage it?”

“Manage what?”

“Courting her.”

“I definitely didn’t do a mating dance, if that’s what you mean,” Jacob quips.

Newt cringes. “No, that’s not what I — you see, I’m quite fond of Tina” — “Yeah, no duh,” Jacob mutters — “and I’ve been informed that she feels the same, but I have no idea how to… what to do.”

“Just be yourself,” Jacob says sagely, then tugs on Newt’s arm. “Listen. Tina’s crazy about you, any idiot can see that. So all’s you can do in a situation like that is to be yourself.”

“Even if myself is eccentric and annoying?”

Jacob shrugs. “Eh, regular guys are overrated.”

“You’re a good man, Mr. Kowalski.”

He shrugs again and flashes a grin. “I try. Come on.” He jerks his head towards the stairs. “We’ve got two ladies waiting for us.”

Newt starts to follow, then hesitates. “Mr. Kowalski — Jacob — do you ever think how very lucky we are?”

Jacob pauses for a minute, then smiles and nods slowly. “We are, aren’t we?”

“Very much so.”

“Why don’t you save that one for the next date, huh?” says Jacob, and winks at Newt.

“I haven’t the faintest what you’re talking about,” Newt insists, and follows his friend back into reality.

Thankfully, all discomfort seems to have cleared up by dinner, and things have returned to normal with Tina. He introduces them to Butterbeer, proclaiming it far superior to Giggle Water; they have a friendly argument over that. Later, after Jacob has said farewell to a very disappointed Queenie — the bakery’s been dangerously close to “sold out” lately, and he needs to whip up a dozen batches of his exotic pastries by tomorrow — Newt overhears a whispered exchange between the two sisters as they fold laundry in the living room.

“Queenie, didn’t you _hear_ me?” Tina hisses.

“Well, I thought you was just _thinking_ about kissing him! I didn’t know what was happening, you think about him so much as it is. Besides, it ain’t my fault if you’re too scared to do it.”

Silence. Then,

“Oh, Teenie. That’s baloney. Of _course_ he wants to kiss you.”

“I don’t know,” Tina says very, very softly. “He's so… jumpy around me.”

“He's an awkward magizoologist who hasn't had a real relationship before. You can't expect him to be much of a cake-eater.”

“Yeah, but now that he’s got throngs of admirers…”

“Pish posh,” Queenie declares, and Newt nods in agreement. “They don’t mean nothing if he just wants you. Which he does.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Right. It’s not like I can read minds, or anything. Jeepers, has he taken your brain along with your heart?”

“Oh, shut it. Here you go, but next time, you have to fold Jacob’s clothes. He’s _your_ fiancé. Anyway, not a word to Newt?”

“Not a word, I swear.”

“Good.” With very little warning, Newt realizes that Tina’s about to open the door, and he scrambles madly to grab his book and leap under the covers of his bed as she enters.

“What have you been up to?” she asks.

“Nothing,” he says, and takes an innocent sip of his cocoa. When she turns to plump her own pillow, he can’t help but smile. Baloney, indeed.

* * *

Although he doesn't mind the owls or the number of letters, the other effects of Newt’s burgeoning fame are proving to be rather less desirable. By Monday, he’s already had to dodge several young, inexplicably enamored girls trying to _touch_ him on the streets.

Queenie’s been serving as his lookout, often warning him of impending attacks so he can make a quick getaway. Listening to those girls’ insipid thoughts is her least favorite part of the day, but given her own affection for the odd magizoologist she keeps it up. Unless, of course, Newt has annoyed her somehow, in which case she blithely stays silent and watches in amusement as he’s accosted.

If this keeps up, he tells Dougal after barely 24 hours of enduring this treatment, he's going to make a proper invisibility cloak. This proclamation, which is rather like telling a beaver you plan to make a fur hat, prompts a long period of stony silence on the demiguise’s behalf. After all, being able to turn invisible at will makes it quite easy to give people the cold shoulder.

“I haven't a clue why they're like that,” Newt says to Jacob, after evading a particularly giggly group of teenage girls begging for his autograph. He’s on his way to MACUSA to meet Tina after his last meeting (uneventful, as they all seem to be). Jacob is headed back to the bakery to check up on some things. “It's really quite peculiar.”

“You're kidding, right?” Jacob looks at him disbelievingly.

“What?”

“Have you _seen_ your book?”

“Of course the content is informative and warrants a certain level of —”

“No. No, Newt.” Jacob shakes his head, rubbing a hand over his face. He reaches for the book Newt’s carrying and flips it to the back. “See?”

“It's my biography,” says Newt blankly.

“Look again, buddy.”

“It's… my portrait.” He squints at the picture. In it, he's standing on a tall boulder, one hand on his hip, the other shielding his eyes from the sun. “I look a bit daft, don't I? I need a haircut, too. Must remember to do that, it's just starting to get in the way —”

“ _Daft?_ Who d'you think you are, Mr. English guy?” Jacob asks. “Come on, you know.”

Newt doesn't. “Know what?”

“You can't be — you're killing me here.” Jacob pauses, eyebrows raised, then visibly gives up. “They think you're attractive.”

“Hmm?”

“Those girls? They're hanging around you ‘cause they think you're good looking.”

“I… oh.”

Jacob scoffs incredulously. “Unbelievable. Don't tell me that's the first time you've heard that.”

“N-no, I, erm.” Newt fidgets awkwardly, bringing one hand up to scratch his neck. Being both British and accustomed to living in the shadow of other people’s accomplishments, he's grown supremely uncomfortable receiving any kind of compliment. A quality which, if his experience thus far in New York is anything to go on, is most certainly going to be challenged going forth.

“I woulda thought Tina might’ve mentioned it,” Jacob says slyly, then elbows Newt when he looks up, alarmed. “Hey, it was a joke.”

“Oh.”

“You're really something, you know that, Newt?”

“I… thank you?”

“I'm just saying, y’know, don't take it for granted.”

“Sorry, take what for granted?”

Jacob gestures at his own general physique. “Not all of us got it, you know.”

“Yes, but people like you, and you’re marrying Queenie.”

“Nah, we’re talking _looks_ here. My friends in the army used to say, some people got looks, and some people got books. You got both of ‘em.”

“Why does that matter?” Newt is genuinely curious. He also gets the sense that if he were discussing this with anyone but Jacob, he might be getting punched in the face right about now.

The baker is gaping at him now, then runs a hand through his hair and shakes his head, blowing out a puff of breath. “Why does th — because they're _looks_. People make crazy judgments based on them.”

Newt ponders this for a moment. The absurd societal correlation between perceived attraction and likableness isn't a new one to him, but he's surprised to have it preached to him by Jacob. Jacob, who is not objectively physically attractive (he recalls Tina’s vexed “Who’d want to marry him?”) but who has a doting, objectively attractive young woman almost sickeningly head over heels in love with him. Whom people like for his broad, welcoming smile, his kindness, and his surprising courage. “They shouldn't. It's a waste of time.”

“Hm.” Jacob mulls this over, impressed. “I like that.”

“It's the truth,” says Newt, even more bewildered.

Jacob chuckles and shakes his head again. “Speaking of Tina, how's that going?” he asks shrewdly.

Newt feels himself turn red. “Good,” he answers shortly, staring fixedly at the ground.

“Good, that's g — look out!” Jacob shouts, shoving Newt out of the way before he gets run over by a Ford Model T as they cross the street. “Geez, I won't ask about Tina, just don't go and get yourself killed on my watch, would ya?”

“Sorry,” Newt apologizes hastily. “Er… it's alright.”

Jacob casts him a sidelong glance. “You two, uh, sort it out?”

“Sort what out?”

Jacob rolls his eyes. “Talking to you, Newt, is like having a conversation with a parrot, you know that?” He sighs. “I was talking about what happened, with her disappearing and all.”

“Ah. Yes, that. We discussed it.”

“Did anything else happen?”

“Like what?”

“Like — oh, forget it. Am I allowed to bring up what Queenie and I walked in on the other night?”

Newt’s gaze bores a hole in his shoes. “No.”

“Unbelievable,” Jacob repeats. “Well, don’t take too long. Queenie and I have bets on when it’ll happen. My money’s on Wednesday.”

“You know, every so often I regret the fact that I met you,” Newt says.

“Yeah, but now ain’t one of those times,” Jacob says cheerfully. He claps Newt on the shoulder; they've arrived at his bakery, and Newt’s head is still in a fog. “Good catching up, pal. I'll see you tonight?”

“Hmm? Tonight. Yes, tonight sounds fine. Good day, Mr. Kowalski.”

Jacob tips his hat and disappears into his store, leaving Newt trying to decide how exactly he feels about being considered attractive to such a large population of females. Truth be told, he really only cares about one member of that population.

It was interesting to hear the baker talk about his appearance in such a fashion; growing up, Newt simply never gave much thought to these things. He certainly wouldn’t have expected his appearance to be such basis for young women’s bizarre behavior. Although it isn't the worst thing, it _is_ a bit unnerving.

Then he thinks about Tina, and a small seed of worry plants itself. She's _clearly_ attractive; what if young men begin paying her the same attentions? He knows Queenie said Tina wasn't too popular with men, but then again Tina's also becoming increasingly well known, making the papers as an established and accomplished Auror. Newt can't possibly stand a chance against some handsome dark magic defeater.

He can almost hear Queenie declaring his concerns “bushwa” and shakes off his insecurities, at least for the time being. With his dreadful predilection to let his mind wander off, he feels as though he’s inadvertently missed some parts of his time with Tina, which he resolves to change. To be perfectly honest with himself (and he’s trying to be), he really does hoard every moment with her as though it’s his last.

He can only hope she feels the same.

* * *

Glossary 

**Cake-eater** : a ladies’ man

 **Bushwa** : euphemism for “bullshit”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments, and please don't be a stranger, because comments make my day. I have quite a lot cooked up for the future of this fic, and I won't be surprised if it hits 30 decent-length chapters. Hope you're enjoying my writing!
> 
> ETA: almost 40 chapters and no intention of stopping!


	9. Looking at the world and everything that passes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Newt and Queenie have a heart to heart, Sophia gets a job offer, and Tina and Newt become Mummy and Daddy.
> 
> “Wow. You _are_ weird,” Sophia says in approval. “I like it.”
> 
> “That’s very good,” Newt says, “because I’d like you to be my assistant.”
> 
> She nearly drops the cup in her hand. “What?”
> 
> Chapter title from "Looking At The World Thru Rose Colored Glasses" by Nick Lucas (1926)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter kind of happened, because next chapter is a real emotional rollercoaster again.
> 
> Please continue to comment and leave kudos!

_Week 2, Tuesday_

Tuesday is a busy day for Tina, while Newt has virtually nothing to do. Queenie tells him to come by the Wand Permit Office if he feels like it, because apparently the Grindelwald situation has seriously diminished the number of people coming through New York.

After carrying out his typical morning routine, Newt obligingly makes his way to MACUSA, where Queenie is overjoyed to see him. “Tina never visits,” she says happily, “and Jacob can’t, of course.”

“It’s really no problem,” he replies, taking a seat and removing his scarf.

She rests her chin on her hand. “So, should we talk about what me and Jacob walked in on?”

“No,” Newt says firmly.

Of course, the Goldstein sisters never listen. “We should. I also happen to know that _someone_ was eavesdropping the entire time I talked to Tina afterwards.”

Newt sighs. “I miss when you couldn’t get past the accent.”

“Oh, but it’s so much nicer this way.”

“For you, perhaps.”

“It means we’re friends,” Queenie explains earnestly. “I know you better now. Your thoughts are… clearer.”

“It _is_ odd, having friends,” Newt admits.

“You ain’t never had friends before us, did you?”

He shakes his head. “No, not particularly, other than Leta. People in my year thought I was odd, and oftentimes I don’t speak to anyone when I’m working.”

“That must be terribly lonely.”

He fights the wave of emotion suddenly flaring up. “It isn’t, really. I didn’t much know what loneliness was, until Leta, and then I just… forgot.”

“When did you remember?” asks Queenie.

“When I met Tina. Well, when I left her.”

“You missed her.”

“Yes. Very much so.” _But did she miss_ me?

“Of course she did! She was over the moon when you promised to come back and visit her, but the amount of moaning and groaning and crying I had to deal with after that…” She shakes her head. “It’s a good thing I love her so much, else I would’ve left a long time ago.”

“Wh — I’m sorry, _crying?_ ” Is he just _doomed_ to make this poor woman cry?

“Oh, no, honey!” Queenie exclaims. “Not like that. It isn’t your fault. It’s just that she missed you.”

“Ah.”

“Teenie can be emotional,” Queenie says, sounding suddenly concerned. “She’s so strong most of the time, but when it comes to things like… well, like you, she struggles a bit. You’ll be okay with that, won’t you?” She looks at Newt anxiously.

“In for a knut, in for a galleon,” he recites in response, partly as retribution for her constant usage of undecipherable slang.

“Oh, stop that,” Queenie rebukes him.

He smirks, then explains, “I know what I got myself into. Trust me, I’m entirely, utterly, _completely_ invested in… this.”

“I hope so. If you hurt Tina…”

“I’m sure there will be hell to pay.” _Then again, what if she hurts me?_

“She ain’t going to hurt you.”

“If her feelings change?”

“They won’t.”

He scoffs. “Would that I had your confidence.”

“You’ll see I’m right,” she says, flashing an impish grin.

“Queenie, do you ever…” He hesitates, not wanting to pry too much. “It must be very stressful, being able to read everybody's minds.”

“Sometimes,” she responds thoughtfully. “Mostly on account of people who are suffering. I try not to pay too much attention around those. The scariest is when I can sense the thoughts of someone with darkness in ‘em, like —”

“Like Alec.”

Queenie bites her lip and nods, and it occurs to Newt that Tina may not have been the only one who came out of the ordeal worse for wear.

“Have you told Jacob about it?”

“What?” she asks sharply.

“About what happened in school. I can't imagine you weren't… affected by it.”

“Oh, no,” she says a bit too dismissively to be fully believable. “Tina’s the one it really bothered.”

“Yes, but see, I rather think… well, I'm not one to be making personality assessments, but perhaps you ought to. It just seems like an awful lot to carry around with you.”

“Like the photo of Leta Lestrange in your case?” she says with an uncharacteristic touch of asperity.

“Could we please not discuss that?” Silence. Then, “Have you gathered the whole story by now?”

“Just parts of it. Not the whole thing,” she admits. “But I meant what I said. She was a taker.”

He bows his head. “Yes, I’m — I’m very well aware of that now.”

“She’ll always be a part of you, Newt,” Queenie says quietly, peering at him. “Just like Alec will always be a part of Tina. I know,” she says, louder, when Newt flinches involuntarily. “I hate him as much as you do. But he was her first love, just like Leta was —”

Newt suddenly can’t take it anymore. “I should leave,” he says, jumping up and reaching for his scarf.

She scrambles to her feet, grabbing his arm. “No! I’m sorry, I… I went too far. Please don’t leave ‘cause of me.”

He sits back down reluctantly. “I… can’t talk about Leta, or Alec,” he says in a low, almost ashamed voice. “I just — I can’t.”

“Okay. Okay, that’s fine.”

He presses his lips together, trying to come up with something to say.

“I used to do that all the time, when we was at school,” Queenie confesses. “I’d just blurt things out and I’d push people too much, when they weren’t ready to talk. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright.”

“Just… if you need to talk, promise you’ll talk to someone? Jacob, me, Sophia — s’long as you don’t make yourself go through it alone. Okay?”

 _Sophia._ He’d completely forgotten about her. Now, _there’s_ something he can do with his time. Without another word, he throws his scarf around his neck, grabs his suitcase, and heads for the door. The nice thing about Queenie, particularly for certain private people whose minds work too fast, is that explanations for abrupt departures are never necessary.

“Good luck,” she calls after him, and goes back to work.

* * *

The Ollerton residence turns out to be walking distance from MACUSA. As Newt waits for someone to answer the doorbell, he experiences a fleeting moment of… something. It’s true that he’s accustomed to being alone. Even though he doesn’t want to be — now that he’s felt what it’s like to have someone — it’s still uncomfortable, letting anybody new into his life. Even (perhaps especially) if it’s a 20-year-old girl who’s smart as a whip and dangerously perceptive.

The door swings open. Thankfully, it’s Sophia (it would’ve been a terrible state of affairs if he got the address wrong and inadvertently called on one of his adoring fans), who grins when she sees who it is.

“Hi, Mr. Scamander!” she says brightly. “Come on in.”

He steps into her house gingerly, clutching his case with both hands.

“Well, come on,” his hostess coaxes him when he doesn’t move. “I’ll make you some tea.”

“Tea?” He follows her into the kitchen.

“You _are_ British, aren’t you?”

“Well, yes. I just thought most Americans drink coffee.”

“Ah, so now Miss Goldstein is representative of all Americans,” Sophia says sagely as she fills the kettle. “How’s that going, anyway? Did she make it back alright?”

Newt nods, drumming his fingers on the top of his suitcase nervously.

“Are you like this whenever you walk into another person’s home?” she asks conversationally, placing a milk jug on the table. “Just wondering.”

“I don’t walk into many other people’s houses,” Newt replies.

“Wow. You _are_ weird,” she says in approval. “I like it.”

“That’s very good,” Newt says, “because I’d like you to be my assistant.”

She nearly drops the cup in her hand. “What?”

“My assistant. It’s getting a bit crowded in here” — he raps on the case — “and Tina isn’t always around to help with everything. Besides, I want to do more research, and eventually, well…” He hasn’t spoken to Tina about this yet. “I do want to travel again, when I can.”

Sophia smirks. “You mean, after you two tie the knot.”

“Are you always going to be so contrary?”

She shrugs. “I just like to see good people happy. That’s all. Anyway, I’d love to be your assistant. When can I start?”

Newt places the case on the floor and flicks it open. “Right now.”

* * *

“Newt, that’s great!” Tina exclaims that evening when she hears about his meeting with Sophia. The two of them are sitting in the living room and sharing what’s left of last night’s pineapple upside-down cake, taking it in turns to pass the plate back and forth. “She sounds really good for you.”

“I’m... excited,” Newt agrees. He pauses. “You’ll still come, though, won’t you?”

Tina takes a forkful of cake. “Of course, if you want me to.”

“The creatures love you, you know. They took to Sophia, but I think you’re Mummy.”

“And that makes you…?”

Newt chews thoughtfully, then answers, “Daddy, I suppose.”

Tina sits back, smiling. “I like that. Mummy and Daddy.”

Jacob coughs loudly behind his newspaper.

“Right, well, we’d better get to bed,” Tina says, jumping to her feet. “Newt?”

“Ah, yes.” He stands up. “Hadn’t we better tidy the kitchen?”

Jacob’s eyes peer mirthfully over the paper. “Yes, _hadn’t_ you? While you’re at it, if you wouldn’t mind doin’ the laundry...”

“Subtle,” Tina hisses at him. He shrugs: _what are you gonna do?_

Cleaning up is much more enjoyable with Tina (although everything is much more enjoyable with Tina) than it is alone. Ever since the disastrous walk-in incident, Newt makes an arduous effort not to let loose too much when they’re under the keen — and very intrusive — observation of Queenie and her fiancé. As such, giggling and roughhousing are kept to a minimum, and he maintains as respectful a distance as possible from Tina at all times. She’s teaching him a number of housecleaning spells, which he seems to do better with than the baking ones.

Once they’re finished with the kitchen, they retire to what’s now officially become _their_ room. A stack of paperwork that arrived by owl is waiting on Tina’s bed, while Newt promised Sophia he would look over what she’s written in her own field journal so far. They sit on the floor facing one another, legs stretched in front of them, each leaning against the side of their respective bed.

There’s quite a lot to look through for both parties, and they’re startled when Queenie pokes her head in with the helpful suggestion that they go to sleep now, before the clock strikes one.

“She’s probably right,” Tina admits, yawning. “How far’d you get?”

“Halfway through,” Newt replies, ruffling the pages. “She’s quite impressive.”

“Oh, yeah?” Tina asks, leaving her stack of paperwork — fully reviewed save for one 7-page monster she resolved to attack tomorrow — on the floor. Newt places Sophia’s field journal next to it, then pulls up his covers.

“I think she’ll make a fine assistant,” he says thoughtfully as Tina waves her wand and the room goes dark. She settles into the bed across from him.

“‘M glad you found her,” Tina mumbles, her eyes already drifting shut.

“I’ll introduce you two soon, I’m sure. Knowing her, she’ll likely barge in unannounced if I leave her waiting too long for a response.”

“Sounds fun.” Tina yawns again. “Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“Did you have a good day?”

He smiles. “Yes.”

“Mm. What was the best part?”

 _You._ “Well, that pineapple upside-down cake was quite delicious.”

“Wasn’t it?” They both smile into the darkness, then Tina rolls over and says quietly, “Goodnight, Newt.”

“Goodnight, Tina.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unrelated (ish) but if anyone is an artist, or knows of any fan artists who might be interested in illustrating for my fics, please let me know.


	10. It had to be you, it had to be you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tina tells Newt he's a wonderful man, and events transpire.
> 
> “Do you think —” he begins, intending to ask about dinner, but he’s interrupted by Tina raising a hand and ever so gently pushing his hair back. She looks at him searchingly, scans his whole face.
> 
> “Yes?” she whispers. As soon as her eyes dart down to his mouth, he finally, finally clues into what’s very likely about to happen.
> 
> Chapter title from “It Had To Be You” by Isham Jones (1924).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *squee*

_Week 2, Wednesday_

Newt and Tina make plans for dinner after she's done with work. Having had a tremendously productive and, if he’s being honest, flattering meeting with a major publisher (he's getting a bit more appreciative of compliments these days), he’s in a more cheerful mood than usual — but his smile fades the moment he sees Tina emerge from MACUSA headquarters. There's something wrong; he can _feel_ it. Concern mounting, he darts across the street, meeting her just as she reaches the last step.

“What's wrong?” he asks her urgently.

“Nothing,” she blatantly lies.

“I got these for you,” he says, and presses a small bouquet of flowers into her hand. “I thought you might like them. I grew them in my case, actually, and I just noticed today they’d bloomed, so I thought I — Tina?”

The hand gripping the bouquet is shaking. He takes one look around, then grabs her by the elbow and Disapparates.

When their feet touch the ground in a small abandoned lot, she immediately falls away from him, gasping for air.

“Hang on,” he says, catching her before she can collapse. She stumbles, then gets her bearings. “What's wrong?”

“I'm…” She runs a hand through her hair hopelessly. “It just — I had a — I don't know. I just don't feel right.”

“It's alright,” he says, though he's mildly terrified.

“Is it?” she whispers, looking at him bleakly.

“It's… here, why don't you talk to me.” He takes her hands in his, determined to be there for her in the way other people haven't.

“It’s like there’s something dark in me,” she confesses. “I don’t always know how to get rid of it.”

 _I could help,_ thinks Newt. He’d like to provide words of reassurance, anything, but his tongue seems to have attached itself to the roof of his mouth.

“It’s like… I go numb. I’m not in my — in my body, anymore. And it’s not always to do with Alec. It’s something inside me. What's worse is that it's unpredictable. It's terrible, Newt.” She sounds so plaintive, so desperate, his heart breaks. “One minute I'm fine and the next I'm not. My mind just… shuts off. Queenie thinks I do it on purpose, but I don't. I've never used Occlumency on her. It's my brain.”

“That must be very frightening,” Newt manages to offer in what he hopes is an encouraging and supportive tone.

She gives a watery smile. “It is. Queenie’s tried charms, but they don’t stick. Magic can only do so much.” She sniffles. “I just retreat.”

“I could go with you, if you wanted. The next time.”

Tina softens, raises her hand to cup his cheek. “You can’t,” she whispers miserably.

“Might I ask why?”

“No. I’m so, so sorry. I can’t — I can’t even explain it. I need to be alone. Nobody can come. I need to figure this out. I need to f-fix this…”

“Then what can I do?”

“Nothing,” and it’s quite possibly the worst thing he’s ever heard. He can cure beasts of any ailment, injury, and curse; he can concoct potions to save humans from the most poisonous of bites. But he cannot fix this beautiful woman, who has inexplicably become the most important person in his life. There’s a palpable gap between the two, a sort of emotional chasm, and he is powerless to bridge it. “Just be there, please,” Tina pleads suddenly, as though she is breaking, grabbing the lapels of his jacket. “ _Please_.”

“As you wish,” Newt answers, startled by her urgency. He carefully covers her hands with his own, as though she is made of spun glass, and she might as well be. “I’m here, Tina.” He pauses. “Where else would I be?”

“Anywhere but with me,” she says in a small voice, staring down at the pavement.

Newt gapes. “ _Anywhere but with you?_ Tina, if there is a place without you, I don't want to go there.”

Tina hugs him, a gesture that still catches him off guard. It's a quick embrace which is over before he can respond. She grips his arms. “Thank you.”

“Whatever for?”

“You haven’t left,” she points out.

He’s appalled. “What on earth would possess me to do such a thing?”

“I don’t know, maybe because I’m crazy.” It's said in what he assumes is an attempt at a joking voice.

“Even if that were true, I wouldn’t mind. It’s part of who you are, isn’t it?” She nods. “Then I shall accept you for it.”

“You are a wonderful man,” Tina says breathlessly, after gazing at him long enough to make him squirm.

“Right,” is all he can think to say. “I… thank you, I suppose.”

“Newt, I owe you my life,” she states gravely.

He shrugs uncomfortably. “It was no trouble, really.”

She's still gazing at him. “No, it was.”

He thinks for a minute before admitting, “Alright, perhaps it _was_ a little gallant.”

Tina laughs. She’s moving imperceptibly closer, a fact which registers only hazily. Leta was small (nine inches shorter than him, to be precise). Tina, on the other hand, is exactly his height. ***** This is a fact which he appreciates perhaps more than he should.

The silence is stretching out between them. Newt isn’t sure if he should be the first to break it — perhaps she’s waiting for him to say something. “Do you think —” he begins, intending to ask about dinner, but he’s interrupted by Tina raising a hand and ever so gently pushing his hair back. She looks at him searchingly, scans his whole face; he has no idea what he looks like, but probably quite panicked and out of his depth (because he is).

“Yes?” she whispers, and both her hands are cradling his face now. As soon as her eyes dart down to his mouth, he finally, _finally_ clues into what’s very likely about to happen. A fraction of a second later, she leans in and presses her lips to his.

He never thought he would be kissed like this. Several things happen all at once, and he's momentarily dazed. Tina’s lips are wonderfully soft and somehow warm despite the chill of the evening. Although everything, including his mouth, tenses at the initial shock, she gives him a minute to reciprocate, timidly at first and then with increasing confidence. He can't recall the last time he did this with someone, but he knows with absolute certainty that he's been waiting for _this_ kiss his entire life.

Tina kisses him as though she needs him. Which is preposterous. If this is about needing him because he saved her life — but no, there’s _want_ there, too. As oblivious as he is in most matters of the heart, he can sense it. Her arms wind around his neck, her fingers comb through his hair, and he draws her closer, one hand cradling the back of her head and the other skimming her waist. Merlin’s beard, it's good.

He’s needed by his creatures, and he's been wanted by the few lovers (if they can be called that) he has had over the years. But the heady combination of need and want is something so utterly new to him, he thinks he may never get used to it; he thinks this may be his undoing.

They have to break apart eventually: they're in a public, if currently vacated area, and breathing proves difficult with them both caught in the whirlwind of new romance. The kiss was innocent enough to be a pure, romantic first kiss, but deep enough that both of them look slightly disheveled, and Tina's eyes shine with something Newt realizes he produced. His heart does something quite odd at the thought of it.

They both stand there, drinking in the sight of each other, before Newt clears his throat and says, “Do you want to have dinner with me?” She laughs again, a wonderful tinkling _happy_ sound.

“I would love to, Mr. Scamander.”

“Please, call me Newt,” Newt says, as she loops her arm through his and they walk down the street together.

* * *

 ***Note:** I went by heights of actors. Katherine and Eddie are both 5’11, and Zöe Kravitz is 5’2. Technically, Tina is 5’8 and Newt is 6’2, but I only realized that after writing this bit and I was attached to the idea of them being equals like that.


	11. Walk right in, sit right down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Newt learns how to mentor someone who acts quite as if she's mentoring him. Also, a rather problematic Situation develops.
> 
> “Mr. Scamander, you have the _entire_ wizarding world at your disposal and all you plan to do is travel around and write books?”
> 
> “Well, yes.”
> 
> “But you can effect _change!_ ” Sophia exclaims incredulously.
> 
> Chapter title from "Walk Right In" by Gus Cannon (1929).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aargh, another unplanned short chapter. I was adding more to this, but then all hell broke loose with the Muggle boy and girl, and I decided to dedicate the outcome of that to its own chapter (get ready for a VERY displeased Tina).
> 
> Incidentally, I've discovered I _quite_ enjoy coming up with wizarding spells, potions, and idioms.

_Week 2, Thursday_

Sophia shows up at the apartment eight o'clock sharp. Newt kisses Tina (who barely gets to say hello, but promises to make acquaintances later) goodbye, then gestures for Sophia to follow him into the case.

“So, I see you _are_ a couple,” she says as they descend.

“It’s a new development,” he says somewhat defensively. “Still not sure what we are, actually.”

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

“I'm not, no.”

“And I thought Ilvermorny drama was bad,” she says, shaking her head. Then, “Alright, what d’you need me to do?”

Newt hands her a large slab of raw meat and a massive cleaver. “Chop this up.”

“That looks… safe,” she says, but takes the wooden handle anyway and gets to work. Newt’s certain Tina would be lecturing him about leaving his assistants with all ten digits. Then again, Tina isn't here, and he has a good feeling about this one.

“Your field notes were impressive,” he tells Sophia as he goes about straightening up the mess from last night and checking on some of his plants. He pops into the greenhouse, grabs two massive pots, and heaves them onto the counter. “And that was just in Canada?”

“Mmhm. My mom’s got family there, so we go every year. I hate people, like I said, so I put up with dinners and such and then Mom lets me take the canoe and go explore as long as I'm home in one piece when she wakes up in the morning.”

“That's a kind mum.”

“Yeah, she still wants me to work for MACUSA, but I think she realizes at this point that that’s not happening. Breaking the news to Dad will be a pain, though.” She scoops up the meat into a nearby bucket. “This for the hippogriff?”

“Ah.” Newt nods. “Do you —”

“Nah, I've got it,” she says, and struts confidently over towards the enclosure.

“Do be careful!” he feels compelled to call after her; although she met Fairclaw from a distance the other day, the hippogriff is still skittish and recovering from some very intense, heart-wrenching trauma. After a second (in which he considers what Tina would want him to do), he decides he probably ought to supervise this interaction and starts out the door. By the time he's halfway there, though, Sophia’s already calling for Fairclaw and the hippogriff directs her piercing gaze at the human before her.

His assistant bows gracefully and respectfully, and after a moment receives one in return. Immediately, she leans forward, over the edge of the fence, and Newt starts hurriedly down the path, because that _really_ isn't safe. Before he can reach her, however, Fairclaw lurches forward (her neck’s still healing, and they'll have to deal with the feathers later) and nudges her beak under Sophia's outstretched hands. The assistant beams and pets the beast, murmuring words of encouragement, and then reaches for the bucket. “You ready, girl?” she asks. Fairclaw takes several steps back in anticipation.

Sophia hurls a chunk of meat into the air. “Oh, no, she can't —” Newt warns, but all of a sudden the injured hippogriff flaps her massive wings and leaps into the air to catch the food.

“Good girl,” Sophia says, petting Fairclaw’s neck gently when the hippogriff trots back over to her. “Another one, now.”

Newt can only watch in awe as she feeds this majestic creature, who just the other day was reclusive, scared, and apparently unable to even flap her wings. He certainly couldn't have chosen a better assistant.

Sophia looks over at him when she's done feeding Fairclaw and beams, one arm scratching the hippogriff’s neck. “Are we gonna do something about her feathers?” she inquires keenly, running a finger delicately over where they're splintered and torn.

Newt nods. “I'm working on a growth potion that should do the trick. Problem is, see, they were cursed off, so it's unlikely they'll grow back on their own.”

“You make potions?” Sophia asks, perking up.

“Of course.”

“Can I see?”

“If you’ll feed the mooncalves for me, I'll go set up,” Newt suggests, and hands her the mooncalves’ food pellets.

“Okay,” she concurs, and scampers merrily down the path. Newt watches from afar as the little creatures start bounding over to her before she’s even come close enough to feed them. She stands in the middle of the herd, laughing and petting each one in turn.

Yes, he certainly chose the right assistant.

* * *

They spend much of the day alternately working on potions, taking notes, feeding, and checking on the recovering beasts. Unsurprisingly at this point, Sophia proves to be a quick study, and by four o'clock he confidently entrusts her with whipping up a batch of Refectio Medicamentum, the base recovery potion he uses to aid the healing process and maintain health of his creatures.

“Do you use special spells?” Sophia asks as they wade through the enchanted marsh he created after acquiring a pack of dugbogs. “For your beasts.”

“Spells are a bit tricky and temperamental to come up with,” Newt says, then allows, “but yes, I have a few. They’ve worked so far. I test them on myself first, of course. One time I could only sing jazz tunes for the rest of the day, but that's really the only time a spell’s gone dodgy.”

“You graduated from Hogwarts, didn't you?”

“I was expelled,” Newt says.

“Those aren't mutually exclusive.”

He really doesn't talk about this to anyone except Theseus, and intends to keep it that way. “I’d rather not discuss my education,” he says haltingly.

Sophia is unfazed. “Alright. Well, I just figured you must've done well in school.”

“School doesn't always measure the important things,” Newt explains. “Hogwarts is the best wizardry school in the world” — “As _if_ ,” scoffs the Ilvermorny graduate beside him — “but even it has its shortcomings.”

“You should start a program,” Sophia says intently, “and make it for people like us.”

“Perhaps. I've already written a book, I rather think I've made a proper contribution.”

“Phonus balonus,” Sophia declares. “Are you really going to stop there?”

Newt blinks. “Where else would I go? I intend to continue my adventures, of course, but —”

“Mr. Scamander, you have the _entire_ wizarding world at your disposal and all you plan to do is travel around and write books?”

“Well, yes.”

“But you can effect _change!_ ” Sophia exclaims incredulously. “You've shown wizardkind that these incredible creatures are being taken for granted, hunted, sold, everywhere, and now they're _listening_. Don't just ignore that power because you're used to locking yourself away in a magic box. You can _do_ something,” she says vehemently. “Don’t let it all go to waste.”

Newt isn't sure what to say. He decides a subject change, one of his favorite forms of avoidance, is in order. “We’d better check and make sure the dugbogs haven’t killed one another yet.”

“Why did you save these, again?” asks Sophia.

“They didn’t have any food,” Newt explains. “There’s some sort of poisoning epidemic in Chile, possibly related to Grindelwald, and Mandrakes are an essential ingredient of most antidotes. All the smaller animals are fleeing because marshes are beginning to dry out, or dying from drinking afflicted water.”

“Oh,” Sophia says softly.

“Watch that they don’t attack your ankles,” he says as they continue walking. “They’re not poisonous, but they can give a nasty bite. Come on, I’ll show you some of my spells.” She follows him to the workshop, where he pulls out a floppy, well-worn notebook and thumbs through the pages until he finds the right one. “I’ve been working on this one, for when skittish creatures start lashing out. There’ve been a few nasty thunderbird attacks in Arizona recently; they were just frightened, but of course MACUSA didn’t care.” The bitterness in his voice is palpable. _One problem at a time._ “Anyway, this is what I’ve been practicing.”

Sophia looks at the incantation. “ _Tranquillum laeta_ ,” she reads slowly. “Does it work?”

“Kind of. There’ve been some mixed results, but it’ll do in a pinch. Some of the creatures get a bit _too_ happy and either won’t stop running in circles, or far too calm and go all floppy. Terribly inconvenient, that last one, because it takes ages to get them to move, and double the time if they’re on the large side. I’d _like_ them to just calm down and go back to normal. There are potions, of course, but a spell is so much easier and quicker.” He taps the written incantation thoughtfully. “It works for now, just in here. I won’t use it on the fields until it’s been properly tested.”

Sophia lets out a low whistle. “You don’t futz around, Mr. Scamander.”

He smiles, then reluctantly admits, “I haven’t told Tina about the spell creation yet. I’m rather worried it will upset her, as she isn’t too fond of my participation in ‘dangerous’ activities.”

“That _is_ the job of a girlfriend, isn’t it? Keep you out of trouble.”

“I think we’ve both failed each other in that department a bit,” Newt says. “But from now on, I shall do my utmost.”

“Don’t worry.” Sophia pats him lightly on the arm as he closes the notebook and puts it away. “I’ll make sure you don’t do anything too reckless.”

“Speaking of recklessness, it isn’t generally a good idea to be as… forward as you were with Fairclaw today.”

“Oh, she didn’t mind. We’re great pals.”

“Yes, and I’ll admit it was unprecedented behavior on her part, but not all hippogriffs are the same.” He pauses. “She _did_ seem to take to you rather well.”

“So I can keep my job?” Sophia asks, and there’s a hint of trepidation in her voice that catches him by surprise.

“Without a single doubt,” he says firmly.

Sophia beams.

* * *

There’s a knock on the case just as Newt’s walking Sophia through his evening routine. “That’ll be Tina,” he says, trying not to sound too eager.

“Well then you _know_ we’d better go,” she replies. “Come on.”

Newt ascends the staircase, pushes the top open… and comes face-to-face with a Muggle boy, who shrieks. Another Muggle, ostensibly his older sister, comes running into the room, sees a man sticking out of the suitcase, and screams as well. Newt freezes, having absolutely no idea what to do.

Sophia pops up next to him. “Hello,” she says brightly. “I'm Sophia.”

* * *

Glossary 

**Refectio Medicamentum:** _refectio_ means refreshment; _medicamentum_ means medicine

 **Tranquillum laeta:** _tranquillum_ means calm; _laeta_ means joyous

 **Futz:** a euphemism for “fuck”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's quite late here, but I can't seem to stop writing (I've written pretty much constantly the past few days... must start going to bed before 5 am). I'm hoping to have the next chapter up before I go to bed!


	12. It ain't gonna rain no more, no more

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sophia's mom is awesome, Tina is infuriated, Newt is angsty, and Seraphina Picquery is done with almost everything.
> 
> Tina resumes pacing, then stops in place to look at him despairingly. “We aren’t joking around!” she yells. He flinches. “I _know_ you think our laws are stupid. I know that. But the entire country — no, the entire _world_ — is relying on us doing our jobs. And that means taking precautions, following the rules, and for god’s sake NOT letting an enchanted suitcase land in the hands of two No-Majs!”
> 
> Chapter title from "It Ain't Gonna Rain No Mo'" by Wendell Hall (1923).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to say, writing a snarky, utterly done Madam President was extremely enjoyable, as was writing an incensed Tina. And I adore Sophia, to be honest. In fact, this was probably amongst my favorite scenes to work on. I hope you like this chapter it as much as I liked writing it.

Seraphina Picquery has a great deal on her mind these days. Nobody knows where Grindelwald is, the attacks and uprisings only continue to proliferate worldwide, and everyone is looking to her to do something about it. She signed up for this; she knows she did. But does it really have to be _quite_ this exhausting? Her days are now filled with endless conversations, hundreds of owls a day, fruitless international meetings, two or three hours of sleep a night, and the pervasive, overwhelming fear that she will fail everyone.

A beaver Patronus appears in her office as she’s staring contemplatively into the fireplace. “We have a Section 3A,” comes the voice of Royden Davis, head of the Federal Bureau of Covert Vigilance and No-Maj Obliviation. A second later, there’s a loud _crack!_ and four people of various sizes land on her carpet. Royden and his assistant, Fulbert Branstone, alight smartly on their feet; the other two, however, fall gracelessly onto the rug. It takes one glimpse of floppy reddish-brown hair to recognize the culprit.

“Mr. Scamander, to what do I owe the pleasure?” she asks with subtle undertones of _why-oh-why-must-you-be-standing-in-front-of-me-right-now._

“Er…”

“Section 3A, Madam President,” Royden reports. “He brought his enchanted suitcase into a No-Maj home.”

Oh, Mercy Lewis. Wilmot Redd. _Eunice Frye’s saggiest left_ — “You _what?_ ”

“N-no, it wasn’t like that,” Newt stammers. “It was an accident —”

“There’s this girl too, ma’am,” Fulbert pipes up.

There is indeed. Next to Newt, a young girl is struggling to her feet. She looks vaguely familiar, although Seraphina couldn’t say why.

“Who is this, Mr. Scamander?”

“This? Ah... my assistant, Sophia Ollerton.”

“Ollerton. Are you — ?”

“She’s my mom, yeah,” Sophia nods, then grimaces. “Oh, she’s going to be so mad.”

“Gentlemen, if you wouldn’t mind escorting Miss Ollerton to the fourth floor. Veronica will take her from there. As for you, Mr. Scamander.” She turns to him and sighs, collecting her thoughts while actively wishing for _several_ shots of Gigglewater and Grindelwald’s spontaneous extinction. At least he has the decency to look ashamed. After performing the brand of mental triage reserved only for rapidly-aging world leaders in times of trouble, she makes her decision. “Abernathy!”

Abernathy strides in. “Yes, Madam President.”

She points at Newt. “Take him to Porpentina Goldstein, please.”

“But she doesn’t deal with —”

“I think we can deem this a special case. Take him to Miss Goldstein.” He’s far too argumentative, that one. _And_ fairly feeble — gullible, even — particularly when it comes to young ladies such as Queenie Goldstein. _Desperate times_ , she reminds herself. _Desperate. Times._

“Yes, ma’am.” Abernathy looks at Newt, appearing very nonplussed and not all too eager to spend an extended period of time in his company. Newt, for his part, returns Abernathy’s ogling with an almost comically alarmed stare, as though extremely concerned about his sanity. (To be fair, nobody’s sanity is quite what it used to be.)

That idiot supervisor is still eyeing the magizoologist in distaste. For _god’s_ sake. “Abernathy!”

“Sorry, sorry.” He grabs Newt by the elbow. “Come with me.”

Seraphina sits down weakly in her chair, conjuring a steaming mug of coffee and taking a sip as she muses. It’s true that she is considered a highly professional, intelligent, capable individual by most, and was always praised for her marked ambition and pronounced maturity in school. None of that stops her, however, from wanting _very_ badly to watch Tina Goldstein kick the living daylights out of Newt Scamander.

* * *

The halls are unusually silent save for the sound of their echoing footsteps as Abernathy escorts Newt through several corridors before halting abruptly before a tall mahogany door. Newt hadn’t gotten a chance to see Tina’s office yet, he realizes woefully, and this is decidedly _less_ than an opportune time to do so. “Stay there,” Abernathy instructs him, and knocks.

“Come in,” Tina calls.

He opens the door and pokes his head in. “Goldstein. Do you have a minute?”

“I’m kind of busy —”

“We have a situation with Mr. Scamander again. We’re taking him to the F.B.C. shortly, but Madam Picquery thought you two might like to have a word.”

There’s a tense silence, then Tina steps out into the hallway. The stony glare Newt receives when he attempts to smile at her is like a punch to the stomach. “Thank you, Abernathy,” she says through gritted teeth, still looking daggers at Newt. Then she yanks him away from the wall by the arm and shoves him unceremoniously towards her office, slamming the door behind them.

* * *

One minute all hell has broken loose. The next, she’s at MACUSA getting rug burn on the President’s floor, promptly separated from Newt, and dragged into a high-ceilinged, marble-walled, freezing room to wait for an hour. In retrospect, Sophia decides she doesn’t exactly _mind_ this kind of excitement. Then again, the woman walking towards her (Veronica?) looks highly displeased, and Sophia really doesn’t want to land on some sort of List of Troublemakers, if there is such a thing.

“Come with me, Miss Ollerton,” the woman orders brusquely, leading her down several hallways and flights of stairs before stopping outside an office. She opens the door, one hand loosely grasping Sophia’s arm as though she might try to make a quick getaway. “Emilia? There’s someone here to see you.” Then she nudges — pushes, really — Sophia over the threshold.

Sophia stalls as much as she can, but it’s a very short distance and she’s also in plain sight. Resigned to her fate, she stands, head bowed, carefully centering her feet in the middle of one shimmery grey tile, and awaits the verdict.

Emilia Ollerton takes her glasses off and rubs her eyes, then says, sounding just as resigned as her daughter, “Okay, Soph. What did you do.”

“So, uh, I guess I probably won’t be working for MACUSA,” Sophia answers weakly.

“Mmhm.”

“Um…” Sophia looks up at her mom. Oh, of _course._ “You already heard, didn’t you.”

“Mmmmm-hm.”

She crosses her arms. “Go on, then, yell at me already.”

“I’m not going to yell at you, dear. In fact, it’s about time you ended up in here.”

Whoa. “What?”

Emilia comes to stand in front of her daughter. “When you said you were going to be Newt’s assistant, I assumed the two of you would find trouble somehow.”

“Why did you let me go, then?”

“Because I know you, and I _know_ you aren’t going to be content sitting behind a desk all day. You don’t have the grades to be an Auror — don’t scowl, I’m not saying you’re stupid, but we all know you could’ve tried harder — and you’ve always wanted to be outdoors doing dangerous, stupid things. Which I’m given to understand is exactly what Newt does for a living.”

“So you aren’t mad?”

“Oh, believe you me, I _am_ mad. As your mother. But as an equal and a friend, I’m not surprised. You’ve been legal for three years now, Sophie. One of these days you’re going to have to start taking responsibility for yourself.”

This is… unexpected. Sophia frowns, confused. “What’re you saying?”

“This wasn’t your fault, therefore I can’t blame you too much. You chose this. You get to live with the consequences.”

“Oh.” The main point is, she’s not mad. Whew. “Is Newt going to be in a lot of trouble?” Sophia asks nervously.

Emilia hesitates. “It was good of him to take the fall,” she says softly. “I have much respect for that man. He’s odd, but he has a heart of gold. I’m sure he’ll get an earful from his girlfriend — she _is_ his girlfriend, right?”

“Yup. It’s a ‘new development’” — she rolls her eyes — “but everyone knows it’s a done deal.”

“ _Finally._ ” Emilia looks just as thrilled as her daughter. “Well, I’m sure Madam Picquery will send him directly to Tina — she has a grand and well-hidden sense of humor, that woman — and he’ll have to report to the F.B.C. Past that, I don’t know.”

“His creatures — they won’t be taken away, will they?”

“They shouldn’t be. I daresay everyone has learned their lesson when it comes to that ridiculous case. They could use it as leverage, I imagine. But he’s done us a great service, and in the end it was only two No-Majs. It’s a shame, however, that _you_ didn’t have the good sense to Obliviate them then and there.” She looks sternly at her daughter.

“What? It was _his_ case!”

“And if you want it to be partly yours, you need to start acting like it. You’re just as capable of good judgment and memory spells as he is.”

Sophia goggles at her mother. “Are you really gonna blame _me_ for this?”

Emilia chuckles, giving Sophia a one-armed hug. “You’re not going to be a very pleasant assistant if you keep acting this touchy.”

Sophia snorts. “Oh, believe me, the way Newt is when it comes to Miss Goldstein reaches a whole new level of ‘touchy.’ Besides, I’m good with the creatures, and he trusts me already.”

“That’s my girl. I’m sure you’ll do what it takes to maintain that trust. Now, what do you want to do?”

“I wanna find the case.”

“I’m afraid that might be out of our hands now, literally and figuratively. You can stay here until we get any news, though.”

Sophia sighs and takes a seat, glumly swinging her legs back and forth. “Fine.” She looks up fiercely (well, as fiercely as a four-foot-eleven 20-year-old magizoologist’s assistant can be). “But if they try to take the case away, I’m going to _take responsibility for myself_ and do whatever I can to stop them.”

Emilia smiles with a glint of pride and a hint of bittersweet sadness at watching her daughter grow up. “I’m sure you will, dear. I’m sure you will.”

* * *

Newt shrinks down in his chair as Tina paces in front of him, arms crossed.

“Really, Newt?” she snaps, disapproval dripping from every syllable.

“I’m sorry —”

“Did you learn _nothing?_ ”

“I didn’t mean for it to —”

“Why, in the name of _Eunice Frye_ , would you leave your suitcase _unprotected?_ ”

“I didn’t know there was a cleaner,” he says meekly.

“Just like you didn’t know you were carrying a case of magical beasts last year? Just like you didn’t know your niffler could escape and wreak havoc? Just like you didn’t know a No-Maj was about to get bitten by that — that _thing —_ ”

“Murtlap,” he mutters.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Murtlap. It was a murtlap.”

She gapes at him.

“Sorry, no. Carry on.”

“Mary, Candy, and Tituba!” Tina exclaims helplessly. She throws her arms in the air. “Well, _now_ you’ve done it.”

“I was going to Obliviate them, I thought I —”

“And _Sophia?_ ” she says disbelievingly, her voice increasingly high-pitched. “You would involve _her_ in this mess?”

“It wasn’t intentional —”

She stops and presses a finger to her temple for a moment, then looks back at him. He gets the strongest sense of deja vu. Which is probably on purpose. “Do you understand, Mr. Scamander, that we’re still in the middle of a situation here?”

He mumbles something at the ground.

Tina raises an eyebrow and starts pacing again, gesticulating angrily with her hands as she talks. “Let me get this right. You took your _brand new_ assistant into your magical suitcase and didn’t think to put any protection spells on. A cleaner picked up the suitcase, thought it could do with a polishing, and Disapparated with it, then accidentally left it outside her next house, in broad daylight. Two No-Maj kids came by, picked it up — because it was lying there _with no protective charms_ — opened it, and screamed when they saw two people’s heads pop up. Rather than _Obliviate_ them, contain the situation, and report it to MACUSA, you just stood there and tried to what, _talk_ to them? Meanwhile, they were still screaming, the little boy started crying, and the mother ran in. Am I getting it right so far?”

“Yes, that’s… that’s fairly accurate,” he concurs in defeat.

She shuts her eyes for a moment, pinches the bridge of her nose, then exhales loudly. “And then.” Her voice goes dangerously quiet; more of a hiss, really. “And _then_ the sweet old half-blood down the road had to raise the alarm, MACUSA had to come in, and now you’re _here_ while everyone else cleans up the mess you created.” She stands akimbo, looking at him in mingled outrage and disappointment.

Newt isn’t sure if he’s supposed to say something. “Oh. Well. That _was_ unfortunate, I —”

Tina resumes pacing, then stops in place to look at him despairingly. “We aren’t joking around!” she yells. He flinches. “I _know_ you think our laws are stupid. I know that. But the entire country — no, the entire _world_ — is relying on us doing our jobs. And that means taking precautions, following the rules, and for god’s sake NOT letting an enchanted suitcase land in the hands of two No-Majs!”

“Three,” Newt says under his breath.

“What?”

“Three. Th-there were three No-Majs. Involved. In the — right, I’ll stop.”

Tina stares at him incredulously, then shakes her head.

Newt hides behind his fringe and warily clears his throat. “So, erm. What d’you reckon they’ll do to me now?”

“I don’t know,” she admits quietly, finally taking a seat.

“What d’you reckon will happen to Sophia?”

“She’ll be alright.” Tina casts him a sidelong glance. “It was nice of you to take the blame. Your word does have a lot of influence around here.”

“Yes, well, my word didn’t do much good last year when I got you sentenced to death.” The moment he says it (bitterly and with a touch of self-loathing) he recognizes his mistake. “Merlin’s — I’m sorry, I — I shouldn’t have brought that up.” Perhaps he should boycott opening his mouth for a bit, particularly around Tina. Yes, that might be a suitable solution.

“No, it’s fine,” she responds, and is she… smiling?

Newt shakes his head. “It’s… really not. But I _am_ sorry, terribly sorry, for what happened.”

She tilts her head. “Hey. You saved my life, remember?”

“If I’d been smarter about it and used those bloody protection spells, I wouldn’t have had to.”

There’s a long pause. Then Tina says begrudgingly, “Yeah, but then you wouldn’t have met me.”

By now, she seems at least marginally calmer — more exasperated than angry. Newt has to stop himself from keeling over in relief. He’ll take exasperated _any_ day. “See, my lack of thought and sensibility _do_ yield excellent results.”

“You idiot,” Tina says after a moment. She gets to her feet, shaking her head — she’s going to break her neck, the number of times she’s done that today — and goes behind her desk, where she shuffles through some papers and sits down. She doesn’t look up; she doesn’t acknowledge Newt. Her quill scratches across the parchment rhythmically. It’s as though he isn’t even there.

His stomach drops. Is she done with him? And if so, done with him today, or done with him… forever? The thought sends a wave of horror and despair over him. He could stand the yelling, of course. He deserved it. But he had hoped, deep down, that once she was done letting off steam, things would go back to normal, and she would still like him. It seemed reasonable — couples (if that’s what they were, or are) fight, even if they’re in lo… no. They aren’t. At least, _she_ isn’t. He gazes despondently at his lap and tries to dispel the stinging behind his eyes.

Queenie must be here, he realizes. If Tina is really and truly finished with him, perhaps he can get to the Wand Permit Office before he has to report to the F.B.C. (whatever that is). There were times, at Hogwarts, where everything just got a bit much, and he would run to Dumbledore’s office. There, Dumbledore would always act as though they had a meeting already; he would conjure a plate of sweets, find a new book for Newt to look through, and sit there in companionable silence until Newt either decided to talk about it or gradually calmed down and was able to face life again. It would seem that Queenie has become his new Dumbledore.

Well, there’s no use dwelling or sitting around in a room imbued with rejection. Very slowly, feeling even more vulnerable without his case, he starts to gets to his feet.

“Hey, Newt.” Tina still doesn’t look up, and keeps writing.

He does a double-take to make sure she even spoke (leave it to him to start having hallucinations), then responds cautiously. “Y-yes?”

“You really wanna apologize? Make yourself useful.” She waves her wand; the chair, with Newt still in it, skids over to her desk.

“With what?”

She pushes a stack of papers over to him, and presses a quill into his hand. “They got me doing the boring stuff, busy work while they try to figure out where to allocate all the Aurors. This is just proofreading. I trust you’re able to discern the difference between dementors and dugbogs?”

“I am indeed.”

She looks at him for the first time, and her eyes soften. “Good. Then get the hell to work.”

* * *

In the end, they let him off with a “warning” while making it _very_ clear that they should NOT be making exceptions except for the fact that he _did_ minorly save the city and is also a best-selling (famous, even) author. With his sentence, however, comes an obligatory course in Management of Non-Magical Persons, which is incredibly unpleasant. Tina is assigned to review with him the importance of the Statute of Secrecy — perhaps with less yelling, he suggests hopefully, but Madam Picquery shakes her head and gives Tina a regal nod of permission; Newt slumps down crossly in his seat and Tina glances very smugly (and a bit fondly) at him. She is also instructed to go over the multitude of protective charms he should have been using all along. Which, this particular portion of his sentence including Tina, is much more pleasant.

“I do not want this to happen again, Mr. Scamander, are we clear?” the President says at the conclusion of their meeting.

“Yes… yes, Madam.”

“Excellent,” she says curtly. Everyone is filing out of the room; Tina is talking to Royden near the exit. Newt is about to walk over to her when Madam Picquery stops him. As imperious as always, she leans over and adds in a low, serious voice, “And Mr. Scamander. Please, for the love of all that is good, do _not_ let Porpentina go. She is a strong Auror, a kind woman, and very much in love with you.”

“I — in love with me?” He _really_ isn’t sure what to say to that.

Her expression softens and she gives a wry smile. “We may be greatly indebted to you for your deeds, Mr. Scamander, but when it comes to your Miss Goldstein, I do believe the debt goes in the opposite direction.” When Newt only stands there in his trademark confusion and slight shock, she pats him lightly on the arm. “Good day, Mr. Scamander.”

“Wow,” Sophia pipes up, materializing next to him (he jumps; what _is_ it with women and appearing unexpectedly?). She watches Madam Picquery walk away in awed admiration before turning back to Newt and saying reverently, “MACUSA’s a _much_ better matchmaker than me.”

* * *

Glossary 

**F.B.C.V.N.O.** : The Federal Bureau of Covert Vigilance and No-Maj Obliviation (shortened to F.B.C. for the sake of brevity)

 **Wilmot Redd** : executed by hanging during the Salem witch trials

 **Eunice Frye** : accused but survived during the Salem witch trials

 **Mary, Candy, and Tituba** : the three slaves accused during the Salem witch trials; a play on “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspiration for Tina's stony glare is yours truly; I legitimately scared one of my classmates one time because he'd slacked on our project and came to class late on the day we had to present. Apparently the glare I gave him was so harsh he felt terrible for the next few days and sent me a massive apology text. (Funnily enough, this is Alec's surname namesake. So, things didn't work out between us.)


	13. Keep on looking for the bluebird and listening for his song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Seraphina Picquery tells on Newt, Theseus and Tina meet, and Newt accepts an invitation to England.
> 
> I will be en route to England tomorrow. If you would like to join me, I can delay our departure, but not very long.
> 
> I hear you’ve been dating. Newton, you will surprise us all! I have had the pleasure of corresponding with your Tina and so far highly approve. Be careful you don’t break her heart.
> 
> Let me know as soon as possible so I can make travel arrangements accordingly.
> 
> Chapter title from "April Showers" by B.G. DeSylva (1921).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short one to set up the action! Future chapters will rewind the clock a little to reveal what's been going on behind the scenes, but I needed to make sure Newt was en route to England.

_Week 2, Friday_

Dear Mr. Scamander,

This letter is to inform you that your younger brother was recently taken in and investigated by the Federal Bureau of Covert Vigilance and No-Maj Obliviation. He failed to apply appropriate safety precautions and as a result his enchanted suitcase ended up in a No-Maj home. Although his transgression has since been rectified, and he was duly chastised most passionately by Porpentina Goldstein (whom I would quite like to discuss with you at another time), I feel it is my obligation to express concern regarding his recklessness. We know he is given to absentmindedness. But we cannot have this quality interfering with the Statute of Secrecy during times like these.

Respectfully,

Seraphina Picquery

President of the Magical Congress of the United States of America

* * *

_Week 2, Saturday_

Dear Madam President,

First of all, I apologise for Newton’s conduct. Mother and I have discussed this matter and concluded that a keen eye might be useful in this particular situation. Perhaps I may speak with this Porpentina Goldstein?

I might be coming your way in a couple of weeks. Otherwise, I intend to “invite” — if he resists, I shall demand, and then guilt trip — him to visit our mum and myself. In the meantime, please send me updates should his behaviour continue to deteriorate. Hopefully he will stay out of trouble, or at least contain his trouble within that blasted suitcase.

Thank you for the letter.

Sincerely,

Theseus Scamander

* * *

Dear Mr. Scamander,

This is Tina Goldstein. Madam Picquery said you wanted to talk to me? I _assume_ this is about Newt, but in case anything else is going on, I’ll promise total confidentiality, or as much as can be confidential via owl post. Anyway, let me know.

Is it too much to ask where you are, and if so, whether you might have a brotherly chat with Newt at some point? I keep him in line as best as I can, but my silly magizoologist has proven to possess something like selective hearing. I’m considering taking a leaf out of his book and start disciplining him the way he disciplines uncooperative beasts. See how he likes _that._

Sincerely,

Tina Goldstein

* * *

Dear Miss Goldstein,

You have in fact addressed the primary reason for my letter. Our mother is currently unable to travel, as absenting a house for more than a few hours is a poor idea at this time, so I would like to bring Newt home. I discussed the possibility of a visit with the President, but it looks to be a bit of a hassle. The Department of Magical Transportation has been overwhelmed with concerned citizens trying to vacate the country; likewise, the Invisibility Task Force has been suffering some major staffing shortages.

Might I enquire as to the nature of your relationship with my brother? I’ll admit I was quite taken aback to hear that he would be interacting with anyone in New York, let alone a woman. I do recall hearing the details of last year, but I did not anticipate an ongoing relationship. Is he staying with you?

Sincerely,

Theseus Scamander

* * *

_Week 2, Sunday_

Dear Mr. Scamander,

I think Newt misses you more than he says (he doesn’t say very much). My sister Queenie is a Legilimens and although she refrains from sharing too much of other people’s thoughts, she’s hinted at some level of homesickness as well. My guess is that an invitation would definitely be accepted.

Yes, he’s been staying in the apartment I share with Queenie and her No-Maj fiancé, Jacob Kowalski. Jacob was supposed to be Obliviated, but the potion Newt used was to remove bad memories and he had a number of good ones which were accordingly not removed. Anyway, they’re really happy together, but our “backwards” laws (I’m quoting your brother) would definitely penalize them if they’re discovered. I still think they should go get married in England.

As for our relationship… I’m not totally sure. We’ve openly admitted to having feelings for one another (fancying each other, according to Newt — you Brits, honestly), but between work, some unresolved personal issues, and both of us just sort of floundering when it comes to relationships, I don’t know what to call us. Honestly, any insight into his inner workings would be much appreciated. Queenie can read his mind, but you’re the one who probably knows him best and can decode his weird behavior.

When would you plan to send the invitation?

Sincerely,

Tina

* * *

Dear Tina,

I’m delighted and surprised to hear that my brother has found someone willing to put up with his multitude of flaws, quirks, and general oddities. I’m sure you are very good for him. You can tell Mr. Kowalski that he and your sister would be welcome guests should they decide to wed legally. In regards to Newton’s inner workings, if he goes to the effort to discuss feelings of any kind, he’s probably ready to propose. (That’s a hyperbole, in case I just gave you a heart attack, but really.) I will certainly do my fair share of reconnaissance the next time we speak. I might send an owl today, if you think the timing would be appropriate?

Sincerely,

Theseus

* * *

Dear Theseus,

Absolutely!! And keep me posted on the recon.

-Tina

* * *

Dear Newton Artemis F — alright, I won’t write the whole thing,

It’s Theseus. I apologise for our lack of correspondence, although come to think of it I’m relatively certain you were last to not reply. Either way, I will be en route to England tomorrow. If you would like to join me, I can delay our departure, but not very long.

I hear you’ve been dating. Newton, you will surprise us all! I have had the pleasure of corresponding with your Tina and so far highly approve. Be careful you don’t break her heart.

Let me know as soon as possible so I can make travel arrangements accordingly.

Love,

Theseus

* * *

Dear Theseus — it isn’t fair you don’t have a middle name,

I apparently have book signings this week (Tina is the one who keeps track of these things now), so I couldn’t leave until next. I would very much like to see Mum again. I will have to decide what to do about my creatures, as I’ve acquired myself an extremely talented assistant and I would be remiss to leave her behind. However, I cannot entrust the case to anybody else when I’m halfway around the world.

Sod off about my… I suppose she’s my girlfriend now? Must talk to her about that later. And I would never break her heart. The first time we shared a kiss I was _this_ close to purchasing an engagement ring on the spot.

Could Tina come too? I know it may be considerably sooner than advised for her to meet you and Mum, but I can’t leave her again.

Love,

Newt

* * *

_Week 3, Monday_

Dear brother mine (yes, I know you despise pet names),

If your assistant is amenable, I see no problem with her joining us. Of course Tina can come.

I will arrange transport for next Thursday, further details to come.

Do stay out of trouble until then. We will certainly be having a conversation about your escapades the other day. And yes, you should be scared.

Love,

Theseus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The amount of intermissions I have (you'll see those coming up) from family trees to directories for American Hogsmeade, Diagon Alley, and currency, to research on Papua New Guinea is crazy. We are in this for the long haul.


	14. We'll travel the road sharin' our load side by side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sophia becomes part of the squad, Newt gets an overdue reality check, and Tina is finally able to act normal. Well, somewhat normal.
> 
> "You’re gonna have to get over this, or at least get used to it. When stuff arises, which it inevitably will, would you please talk about it? Don’t shut her out, even if she’s doing that to you. Listen, when you love someone, you’re patient with them. It ain’t perfect. But you and Tina are good for each other and good together. It’s obvious you have a connection. Just… let that connection develop however it’s gonna develop, which means addressing stuff when it comes up and learning to trust each other."
> 
> Chapter title from "Side By Side" by Harry Woods (1927).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Between Tina and Sophia, poor Newt's been getting an earful lately. But hopefully Sophia's tremendous speech will actually start to turn things around (Tina is at least taking her and Queenie's words of advice). 
> 
> Also, I always wanted a big brother to love and look after me, so I'm lowkey living vicariously through Sophia. I'm all about SFCs and I hope I'm doing Queenie, Tina, and now Sophia justice in portraying that.

_Week 2, Friday_

By Friday morning, the excitement of Thursday has been forgiven and forgotten — by Newt, at least. Tina still frequently shoots him disapproving glances, and he’s sure it will be a topic of contention the next time she’s angry with him, but for the most part it’s business as usual.

Sophia, meanwhile, seems to improve by the hour. The creatures still love Tina, of course, but his assistant gives off some sort of _vibe_ , demonstrating the kind of understanding that Newt thought he was alone in possessing. Their time in the suitcase only reinforces what he thought from the start: they understand each other. Although Newt has never felt the pressing need for companionship (until Tina), he can’t imagine how he ever managed his case without Sophia.

He slowly falls in love with her in the way that a father does when he first holds his daughter. She’s the younger sister he never had, and whom he suspects might have made him a very different man had she been in his life sooner; he’s the older brother and mentor she always wanted. “The true test of our relationship, you know, is going to be when a guy breaks my heart,” she informs him over lunch. “You gotta beat him up for me or you aren’t _really_ my honorary brother.”

“I’m not sure about beating up, but I’m certainly capable of stern discussions,” Newt replies.

Sophia rolls her eyes. “Yeah, because young men respond _so_ well to stern discussions. Here, just imagine if someone hurt Tina. You better hope you’d punch him right in the kisser.” Given that he was ready to sic a pack of beasts on Alec before even meeting the man, Newt agrees. “I probably won’t be dating until I’m, like, 40, though,” she adds cynically, “so you got time. Mercy, it’s like life is trying to prevent me from _ever_ seeing any guy.”

And, in true protective big brother fashion, Newt approves wholeheartedly of this arrangement.

* * *

Sophia stays for dinner that night and, as Newt had hoped, is quickly welcomed. She tells Jacob that her grandma baked, too, and that she even follows some of her recipes sometimes (with varying results). Queenie, of course, delights in discussing their favorite couple, comparing notes conspiratorially as Tina and Newt take on cooking duty. At one point, there’s mention of a Legilimency lesson, which Newt shuts down _immediately_ in horror. Sophia as a Legilimens is a terrifying thought, particularly if she’s already hanging around Queenie.

For her part, Tina warms to Sophia gradually, which isn’t altogether surprising. She’s defensive and reserved by nature (but, Newt thinks smugly, warms _very_ much up to some people after she’s known them for awhile). By dessert, the two of them are chattering away happily about Tina’s path to becoming an Auror.

Much to Newt’s chagrin and later discomfort, he’s somehow become the topic of conversation in the same way that people discuss their 10-year-old sons at cocktail parties and family reunions. “Don’t worry, I’ll take great care of your magizoologist during the day,” Sophia reassures Tina. “He _does_ make questionable decisions sometimes, doesn’t he.”

Tina scoffs. “ _Sometimes_ is an understatement. I don’t know what to do with him half the time.”

“Oh, well, we can only do our best to keep him safe.”

“I swear, one of these days he’s going to get himself killed, and I am going to _kill_ him,” Tina declares.

“So what was he like when you first met him?” Sophia asks then, and Newt wonders if the floor might open up and swallow him right about now.

Tina grins. “Well, he _was_ quite handsome…”

Newt jumps to his feet. “I think I’d better go, erm…” The problem with staying at the Goldsteins’ apartment is that there are very few places in which to avoid conversation. He settles on a vague, “I’ll be right back.” Tina raises an eyebrow at him, Sophia looks at him shrewdly, then they both shrug and return to conversation.

Newt steps into the hallway. He leans back on the wall, shutting his eyes briefly as he struggles to gather his thoughts. It’s the attention again, it’s the way these people act like he _matters_ , that’s so unnerving and stressful. No matter how much they may tease, he gets the distinct sense that both Tina and Sophia — and Queenie and Jacob, for that matter — _care_ about him. Of course, he _could_ accuse them of ulterior motives. Tina has a law enforcement position and reputation to uphold; Sophia needs him if she’s going to be able to work with his creatures. Queenie and Jacob, however, have no real reason to keep him around, except perhaps the same one he provided a tearful Jacob last year. So he decides, cautiously optimistic, that Tina and Sophia really do care.

The door opens; he jumps away (as though he can easily hide at this point) and is unsurprised to see Sophia, who shuts the door behind her and walks over. There, she crosses her arms and fixes a piercing gaze on him.

“So?” she says impatiently.

“So what?”

“Are you gonna do this every time you realize people like you?”

“How do you —”

“I told you. You’re easy to read.”

“You don’t understand. I don’t… I’m not used to attention. Theseus was always the war hero, which was fine, because I didn’t much care for awards or compliments. I spend all my time with my —”

“Great, so we’ll just ignore you from now on,” Sophia snaps sarcastically. “C’mon, Newt! You’re gonna have to get over this, or at least get _used_ to it. Why are you so scared?”

“I don’t know.”

“No, I think you _do_ know, but you don’t want to talk about it.”

“I —”

“You and Tina are perfect for each other, you know that? Because you’re both in denial — you, more so — that you have some issues to work out. And you could really do it, if you’d actually start _communicating_ , but instead you just run away. It makes it such a bigger deal when you do that.”

“I don’t know what you’re —”

“Let’s see,” Sophia says, ticking off on her fingers. “We’ll start with Tina. She’s got trust issues, bouts of depression and what I'm gonna diagnose as panic attacks, a _major_ jealousy streak, and general insecurity. Yes, I’ve talked to Queenie, and again: people are easy to read.

“Now, _you_ don’t have insecurity so much as fear and disbelief in the face of people caring about you; you’re practically attention-phobic. You _like_ it, but you’re not used to it. Even though Tina’s depressed — which by the way I think she could work through— she’s also angry, or reacts with anger.

“My opinion? She’s had to fend for herself and Queenie since they were just kids, and when your parents die it’s easy to be angry at them for abandoning you. So when she gets jealous, which I guarantee she will sometime, she’s gonna get angry. You, on the other hand” — she jabs Newt in the chest — “ _you’re_ the damsel in distress, which is really getting old. You’re always hurt and unsure and beating yourself up. If something upsets you, you _literally_ leave, and even if you leave to deal with it effectively, it doesn’t always work that way. You want to be _alone_ with your struggles. If you want a relationship with Tina, or a functioning relationship with the world, you’ve _got_ to get a handle on that.”

Newt stares at her in stunned silence. He isn’t sure what to feel; being yelled at so bluntly is something he has heretofore never experienced. Proving her point exactly, he feels immense hurt rather than anger, followed by a burst of insecurity and the glum realization that she’s entirely right.

“You’re a good guy, Newt,” Sophia says softly, forcing him to look her in the eye. “But you seriously need to figure things out. I _want_ you and Tina together. Obviously. It’s just that I hate sitting here watching both of you suffer in silence because you _like_ each other so damn much. Couples are supposed to be a _team._ That means you don’t hide stuff from them. You wanted to help Tina, right?”

“Yes. Very much so.”

“Okay, so now _she_ has to let you in. And if she really realized what was going on, that you’re not just socially awkward but there’s something deeper, I’m _positive_ she would want to help you. And guess what? _You_ need to let her in too.”

Newt clears his throat. “Oh.”

“I’m not saying you should go in there and have a deep conversation with her and pour out your heart. In fact, that’s a terrible idea. Go on, keep building the foundation. Get to know her, spend time with her, have _fun._ But not too much fun.” She smirks, and a smile tentatively creeps across his face. “When stuff arises, which it inevitably will, would you _please_ talk about it? Don’t shut her out, _even_ if she’s doing that to you. Tell her the truth, that you’re still not used to people wanting and needing you that much, and it’s just stressful sometimes. She’ll help you. She will.

“Listen, when you love someone, you’re patient with them. They aren’t gonna test your patience unless they love you too. It ain’t perfect. But you and Tina are good for each other and good together. It’s obvious you have a connection. Just… let that connection develop however it’s gonna develop, which means addressing stuff when it comes up and learning to trust each other.

“You just need one person in the world you can trust. If you have more, you’re lucky. Me, I trust my mom. That’s pretty much it. I love my dad, but I don’t trust him. Tina, hard as it is to hear, she _doesn’t_ trust you yet. I’m not gonna pretend like she does. But it isn’t _your_ fault. It’s her own defenses. It has nothing to do with you being good enough for her or whatever baloney you got swimming around in there.” She points at his head.

“You’re… right,” Newt says quietly.

She nods. “I usually am.”

“You could work on your delivery a bit, though,” he says.

“Yeah, but then nobody would listen to me. When you look about 15 and you’re less than five feet tall, you gotta compensate somehow.”

It’s true that despite her short stature, Newt often feels that she’s his height or, in the case of being thoroughly chewed out, much taller. Fair enough.

“Now. I’m sure everyone’s overheard my yelling, which I could do without, but it’s my fault for not thinking to do this out of earshot.” She reaches up and grabs him firmly by the lapels of his jacket. “What you’re going to do, is you’re going to walk in there. You’re going to smile at Tina — a real smile, not that weird grimace half-smile thing you do when you’re uncomfortable — and sit down next to her. You’re going to act normal, and then _all_ of us — because there _are_ five people in the apartment right now, you know — are going to make conversation. If we fixate on you, you will _not_ run away. You will sit there and accept that you’ve become part of all of our lives.”

“Fine,” Newt says. Then, in an act that makes him wonder if he’s _actually_ coming down with a serious head cold, he voluntarily — _voluntarily!_ — gives Sophia a hug. She responds with the same zeal as ever, wrapping her arms around him and squeezing until he wheezes in alarm and pries her off of him. “Oi.”

“Hey, you’re my pretend big brother, I get to do what I want,” she says, grinning. “Plus, knowing you, that might be the last hug I ever get, so I gotta get everything I can out of it.”

“Such as bruising my lungs?”

“Eh.” She shrugs.

Newt stares at her for a long moment. “Merlin’s beard,” he says. “You _are_ short.” And, as she shoots him the dirtiest, angriest, most indignant glare he’s ever received in his life, he opens the door.

The level of awkwardness when they both return is actually much lower than he’d feared it might be. He takes a seat next to Tina, who, in a shocking turn of events, leans over and kisses him on the cheek. “You okay?” she asks cheerfully.

“Er… yes. Yes, I am,” he stammers.

He receives a warm smile in return. “Good.” Then she casually, comfortably rests her hand on his knee and, for the rest of the evening, does not take it off.

* * *

_Earlier_

As soon as the door swings closed behind Newt, Sophia and Queenie scoot closer to Tina, looking determined.

“Oh, great,” Tina mutters.

Sophia kicks off the interrogation. “Listen, Miss Goldstein. You gotta start acting normal.” Queenie nods in agreement. “Newt has no idea what he’s doing. He assumes nobody wants to touch him, even. But if _you_ act normal, he’ll _eventually_ learn to act normal as well.”

“Of course, he might tense up at first,” Queenie puts in. “But that’s just because he’s nervous.”

“Right,” concurs Sophia, looking at Queenie and then back at Tina, “so don’t assume he doesn’t want to be with you just ‘cause he gets awkward.”

“He wants to be with you.” Queenie says it with as much confidence as always. Tina thinks she _might_ be beginning to believe it.

Sophia’s turn. “So I’m going to go out there, have a _serious_ talk with him, and then he’s going to come back and you are going to act _normal._ ”

“Normal how?” says Tina weakly.

Sophia and Queenie heave twin sighs. “Show him that you want to be near him,” Queenie suggests.

“Smile at him, maybe? The two of you do _way_ too much gawking at each other. It’s cute at first, but it’s not gonna fly later on in the relationship. And, you know, once you go more public about it,” Sophia adds.

“Just be yourself, and be relaxed...” Queenie says.

“...because at least _one_ of you needs to start acting like you’re a couple,” Sophia finishes.

Tina peers behind the two of them, who are forming a wall of disapproval in front of her, at Jacob helplessly. He shrugs apologetically, then excuses himself to the kitchen to get another strudel, which he then eats while leaning up against the counter and avoiding the three women currently engaged in some sort of living room powwow. “Okay,” she sighs.

“Good,” Queenie beams.

Sophia jumps to her feet. “Now if you’ll ex _cuse_ me, I’m going to go tell Newt a thing or two.”

“Mary, Candy, and Tituba help that poor man,” Queenie murmurs, then turns to Tina, perking up. “Cocoa?”

* * *

Sophia’s been bossed around her entire life. _Sophia, dear, don’t talk so loudly. Sophia, darling, won’t you stop playing with the garden gnomes and sit down. Sophia, doll, girls don’t talk about such ghastly creatures at lunch. Sophia, in the name of Eunice Frye would you_ please _get out of that ridiculous canoe. Sophia, SHUT UP!_

She and Queenie commiserate over this. “I used to read people’s minds and comment on ‘em when I wasn’t supposed to,” Queenie admits. “I learned to stop, but it was hard.”

“I don’t do Legilimency, exactly, but I… understand most people. It’s like I can just tell, without hearing their thoughts. And I can never keep my mouth shut. It’s been a problem, I’ve lost friends because I called them out too many times, when they didn't want or need it. The thing is, it’s all ‘cause I really want to help. I don't like people that much, but if I have to be around them I'd rather they be making good choices. But that's... not realistic. It’s just that I don’t really have a filter, I guess."

Queenie nods sympathetically. “I understand. I think that sometimes… sometimes you find the right people, who are alright with you speaking your mind. Teenie and Jacob and Newt may get annoyed, but they like that I’m a Legilimens. They accept me.”

Now, as she stands in the hallway and yells at Newt Scamander, and he doesn’t shout or run or hate her for it, she realizes Queenie is right. Not that it’s necessarily _good_ to have such a mouth or penchant for solving people’s problems, but she’s comfortable enough already with this man that she just _knows_ he won’t snap at her to leave, tell her to shut up. When she fires off her final directions, she has a feeling he _will_ follow them — or at least try to. That’s all that really matters. O for effort, as they say.

Really, though. What on _earth_ has she gotten herself into?

* * *

“Are you really okay?” Tina asks, coming into the bedroom after seeing Sophia off.

Newt looks up from where he’s sitting in bed reviewing some notes and to-do lists from today. “Mm? Oh, yeah. Yes.”

“Okay.” She yawns and runs her hands through her hair. “That Sophia’s really something. She’s got a lot of… spunk.”

“That she has,” Newt agrees, also yawning and resting the notebook in his lap.

Tina hums in assent and then — shocking turn of events #2 of the evening — comes over to _his_ bed and sits down beside him, lifting his arm up as she does so and placing it around her shoulders. Then, as though everything is totally normal, she reaches for the journal. “Can I see?”

Stunned, Newt nods. She settles down, nestling comfortably into his side, and opens it up. They talk for the next ten minutes, first about his beasts, then about MACUSA, where their Aurors are stretched thin and nobody knows where to begin.

“There are so many attacks we can’t keep up, and we can’t always tell if it’s related to Grindlewald or not,” she explains. “I asked for permission to pursue the Ogbourne case, especially because Lucille Wadcock is rumored to have fled to America after being caught and — goodness knows why — released in Scotland. Madam Picquery turned it down, though. Apparently we need to focus on the ‘big picture.’”

“Mm,” Newt says, resting his chin on her head. “Well, it’s not as though you have a very credible history of staying out of investigations when you’re meant to be. It can’t be a shock to anyone if you take the case regardless.”

Tina gasps in mock shock. “Mr. Scamander, are you suggesting I break the law?”

He grins. “I suppose I’m just biased towards my favorite investigator, whose talents are _tragically_ wasted by these proofreading assignments.”

“Oh, hey,” Tina says. “You have that book signing tomorrow.”

“The… what?”

She peers up at him. “Book signing. At Eagle & Eagle.”

“What?”

“In Puddingstone Place? It’s the only all-wizard village in America!”

“Eagle & Eagle?”

“Our official bird is the eag — oh, never mind. We’ll have to take a Portkey, it’s right in Salem, Massachusetts. It’s kind of a memorial, because of the witch trials.”

Nonplussed by this barrage of information he’s _fairly_ certain (though not 100% sure) he’s never received before, Newt nods stupidly. “Ah. Yes.”

“You _definitely_ knew this was happening.”

“Well, I’ve been rather preoccupied.”

“I’m not even going to get into this with you,” Tina says exasperatedly. “I’ll take you, otherwise you’ll probably end up in the middle of nowhere and cause a whole other scene.”

“This is why I keep you around,” Newt says cheekily; she reaches up and kisses him (his head spins for a moment) and then slides off his bed and gets into her own. He misses her warmth immediately, but of course it would be _most_ improper to sleep in the same bed when they aren’t even engaged. Frankly, it’s a good thing nobody saw them sitting in the same bed.

“G’night, Newt,” she says sleepily, waving her wand and extinguishing the lights.

“Goodnight, Tina,” he replies softly. Before he falls asleep, he thinks back to his earlier chewing-out in the corridor. _You will sit there and accept that you’ve become part of all of our lives._ Sophia is proving to be a most excellent assistant, he decides, and not just when it comes to the beasts.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Puddingstone Place is, you guessed it, American Diagon Alley. Roxbury Puddingstone is the official rock of Massachusetts (if I haven't previously mentioned, I'm a born and raised Mass-hole). Get excited to see what exactly American Diagon Alley looks like!
> 
> Please comment and leave kudos! I changed up the summary to reflect the direction this is going in (now that it's got more plot) but I'm not sure if that's decreasing my visibility and number of hits. Oh well. We got a long way to go on this journey and there's still time to build an audience!


	15. Let's do it, let's fall in love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tina is Newt's new manager, Sophia meets a boy, and Newt buys a ring. And it's all quite disgustingly mushy.
> 
> Feeling extremely paranoid, Newt opens up the velvet box. Queenie gasps, taking its contents delicately into her fingers, then points to the inside of the ring.
> 
> “What’s that?”
> 
> “That’s... well. It’s an inscription, you see.” Newt scratches the back of his neck and coughs. “Perhaps it’s a bit too —”
> 
> She rotates the ring. In Newt’s messy handwriting, the simple yet weighted word _Yours_ is carved into the smooth metal interior. 
> 
> Chapter title from "Let's Do It, Let's Fall in Love" by Cole Porter (1928).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this chapter turned into something I hadn't anticipated, but I think I love it? I know it's soon for Newt to be buying a ring (and when I say "slow burn" I mean slow burn... I have this plotted for the next 12 weeks and there is no proposal on the horizon yet), but I thought of Jim Halpert from _The Office_ and how he got Pam's engagement ring a week after they started dating. So.
> 
> In all honesty, this is one of my favorite chapters EVER to write, even though it took so long. Enjoy!

_Week 2, Saturday_

As usual, Newt and Tina end up running _very_ behind schedule; they bicker about being late their entire walk to MACUSA and only stop when they arrive at the Department of Magical Transportation, where a Portkey has been issued for their trip to Puddingstone Place. They each grab one end of the dirty sock, still scowling slightly at each other, and land in a field not far from the village.

“I’m only saying, it isn’t _my_ fault, exactly, if you thought we needed to be here an hour later than we did,” Newt says the moment their feet touch ground.

“You’re the one who’s supposed to know these things in the first place!” Tina responds indignantly.

He has no suitable comeback, but as they _are_ running an hour behind, they have to go straight to the bookstore, speeding through the main street so quickly he can hardly get a proper look at any of the buildings.

“C’mon, here we are,” Tina says, nudging him down a back alley. “They said to take the back doors.”

“Why?” Newt asks in alarm.

“Be _cause_ you’re something of a celebrity, and I’m sure ravishing young witches will be all over you the moment we set foot in here,” Tina explains in exasperation, opening the door for him.

“Oh,” he says as they enter a narrow hallway and ascend a flight of creaky wooden steps. “Ravishing. I prefer beautiful, actually.”

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?” Tina says, scoffing.

“Yes, but it’s a very _good_ sort of ridiculous,” he replies.

Before she can respond, the owner of Eagle & Eagle hurries over, looking stressed. “George Brockway,” he says curtly, then gestures at the entrance. “You’re late.”

“We came as quickly as we could, sir,” Tina says, prickling slightly at his attitude.

“Hmph. Mr. Scamander, right this way, if you please.”

George leads him to a stage, on which a microphone and table are placed expectantly. There’s a large backdrop pulled down behind the table, which contains the cover of his book and, much to Newt’s distress and Tina’s amusement, an extremely magnified copy of his portrait. “Oh, they’ll love this,” she whispers to Newt as they step onto the podium.

“You’ll be signing books over here,” George continues loudly, gesturing for them to get down. There are several oblong tables erected against one wall, piled high with copies of _Fantastic Beasts._

“How many people are going to be here?” Newt asks in mounting alarm. “Why are the tables so long?”

George seems not to hear him; he’s now flicking his wand as books right themselves in bookcases. “I’ll be moving these aside, Mr. Scamander,” he informs Newt, and the cases glide smoothly to the periphery of the room, leaving a gaping expanse.

“It’s quite _large_ , isn’t it?” Newt whispers to Tina, who shushes him.

Having finished delivering these instructions none too warmly, George stands next to the door, hands behind his back. "Are you ready, Mr. Scamander?”

Newt climbs back onto the stage, takes a seat, and nods. He instantly feels rather lost without Tina, who’s standing to the side but gives him an encouraging smile.

Still looking put out at their tardiness (they were only _minutes_ late), George flicks his wand; the “closed” sign flips over to “open” and for about ten seconds, there’s blissful silence. Which, like a tsunami wave, is suddenly replaced by a crush of people, everyone yelling and waving and flashbulbs popping, and Newt freezes because _this is not the kind of man he is._ He can handle the chaos of his job and running from dark wizards but there are so many _people_ , all yelling and staring at him, and he's trapped in the spotlight. He can’t focus, can’t gather his thoughts together enough — or get passionate enough — to give a speech in this state. His mouth goes dry; he's struggling to breathe.

And then all of a sudden Tina's there. She slides into the chair next to him, sits up rigidly, waves at the crowd, and murmurs, "It's fine." To the onslaught of fans and reporters, she says very authoritatively into the microphone, "Mr. Scamander will be taking questions one at a time. Afterwards, he will give a brief talk and answer questions at his discretion. Once that has been completed, we will be at that table" — she points to the long tables along the wall; reporters swivel around and start taking photographs — "to sign books for as long as Mr. Scamander wishes. He will thereafter be available for conversation. Thank you."

Someone calls out, "Who are you?" Before she can answer, someone else yells, "You're the Auror!"

"I do work for MACUSA," she admits somewhat warily, always startled and slightly nonplussed to be recognized. "Mr. Scamander would like to take questions now, _one_ at a time."

Newt has to stop himself from gazing at her in admiration. As arms shoot into the air, she glances at him and gives a subtle, reassuring nod. Then, under the table, she intertwines their fingers, rests their clasped hands on her lap, and they face their new world, together.

* * *

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Tina says. "Rough start, but —"

Newt stops abruptly, spins her around in his arms, and kisses her — in plain view of the entire village, no less.

"Mr. Scamander!" she admonishes him, blushing scarlet. "What was _that_ for?"

He really isn’t sure what’s come over him, because he’s _never_ so bold, but if it weren’t for Tina he would have run for the hills the moment the doors opened. Really, he doesn’t know what he’d do without her. "Thank you," he says simply, then frowns. "You... I was overwhelmed. You were there. I didn't — didn't expect that."

"Oh, Newt, of course I was there," she says, and reaches for his hand. "Come on, you wanted to run some errands and I want to show you off to a few people."

"Show _me_ off?"

"Yes, you," she says, laughing. "My eccentric magizoologist." She does peculiar things to his heart, that woman. "We can go to Appleseed Acre first, get the boring stuff out of the way."

"My beasts aren't _boring_. They're actually quite _fantastic_ , or hadn't you heard?"

"Oh, dry up. You know what I mean," she shoots back.

"Yes, I do." He allows her to lead him through the streets. One establishment in particular catches his eye; it's a jewelry store, called The Spangled Star. Making a note to pay it a little visit as soon as he can steal some time away from her, Newt follows Tina into the grocery. There, he ends up buying far more than he needs to, overeager as he is to try all these new American varieties.

"Queenie said she and Sophia might meet us," Tina informs him after they've checked out. He lights up: either woman will be highly useful as a distraction so he can run his… _errand._ Then again, he isn't too keen on either of them finding out what's he's up to.

Luckily, he doesn't have to explain anything to anyone; when Tina sees Queenie pop up in the same field where they landed this morning, they immediately take off for Marie's, a women's clothing shop, giving Newt an excellent excuse to remove himself and backtrack til he finds the jewelry shop again.

Glancing around quickly to make absolute sure that Tina isn’t in the vicinity, Newt sidles into The Spangled Star. “‘Scuse me,” he says, pushing past a young woman wearing Ilvermorny colors. She does a double-take and he looks away hurriedly. This is going to be a problem, everyone recognizing him — perhaps he should start wearing a hat of some sort. For now, he ducks his head and tries to hide beneath his fringe.

Once Newt reaches the cases, he stops short. What on _earth_ is he doing? He and Tina have known each other for what, two weeks? But before he can shake his head and turn around, he _really_ thinks about it. Yes, it’s soon. And yet, he knows she’s just… _it_ , for him. There is no one he’d rather throw himself into danger with, no one he’s ever been willing to take an Unforgivable Curse for, no one whose smile can cure any ailment, no one who can dispel his deepest fears and scariest doubts with one kiss — no one, in short, like Tina. Plus, if she’s going to be following him on his adventures at some point (which he very much hopes she will) he would rather her confront potentially dangerous situations with a ring — _his_ ring — on her finger than forever have regrets (in the very unlikely and very very very unpleasant case that something should happen and even his life cannot save her).

An employee clears his throat. “Can I help you, sir?”

“Er, yes. I’m looking for an engagement ring.”

“Ah. Excellent.” The jeweler — his name-tag reads “Rufus” — taps a glass case with his wand; it slides open, and several black velvet trays hover in the air. “Now, what sort of ring are you looking for?”

“Something simple, I think.”

Another wave of his wand and three trays return to their prior positions in the case, the other four swooping over to centerstage. “We have plain bands of varying widths, which have no decoration,” Rufus offers, and five such rings alight gracefully on the counter before Newt.

“Perhaps a bit more decorative,” he suggests.

Those rings are replaced by a lineup of silver ones. Newt shakes his head, hating to be picky but wanting, of course, to pick the perfect ring. He has a sneaking suspicion that this (demanding and snotty) is how he's going to be expected to act as his book — as _he_ — gains popularity. For someone so “attention-phobic,” this is a less than ideal arrangement.

And then he sees it. It's a simple design, but beautiful. Two thin bands of gold and silver, stacked atop each other, interweave to form a figure eight right where the setting would be. He likes the idea of two metals coming together as one, inseparable and jointly vital to the ring's structural integrity. This is how he often feels about Tina (and can only hope how she feels about him).

"You like that one, don't you?" Rufus observes, watching Newt turn it over in his hands.

"Yes, very much. The gold, though..." For some reason, he can't quite visualize Tina wearing it. Also, the nifflers would likely have a field day with this one. "Do you have a different color?”

"Indeed," Rufus says, waving his wand.  "Black, perhaps?"

Before he can respond, out of the corner of his eye, Newt glimpses wavy strawberry blond hair and instantly recognizes Queenie, which means... and yes, Tina joins her. They've stopped in front of the shop, probably looking for him. Panicked, he starts thinking as loudly as he can. _I'm in here. Do not let Tina come in. Do not let Tina come in. DO NOT LET TINA COME IN._ Either she hears him or serendipitously starts steering Tina down the road. Breathing a sigh of relief, he turns back to Rufus.

Although he does look at and briefly consider a few alternatives, in the end, he chooses the figure eight ring — smooth metal ropes of black and silver that start out separate and then twine seamlessly together. "Do you think she'll mind that it doesn't have a stone?" he asks Rufus anxiously (as though the jeweler knows anything about Tina).

"You're Newt Scamander," Rufus states. Oh. Merlin's beard, he's going to have to address this. "This is for Tina Goldstein, yes?"

Newt falters. They haven't “gone public” with their relationship, an odd term used by Sophia given that he wasn't aware of a “public” to begin with. However, according to her, the two of them are increasingly under scrutiny, and thus do have an audience to report to. If Rufus says a single word — if anyone in the jewelry store even recognizes him — he risks revealing his plan to the world far before he intends to actually present the ring. "Erm... yeah." So much for anonymity.

“Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.” Rufus smiles. "Aurors don't usually like much flash. I think this would be quite suitable for her line of work. Forgive me if I’m wrong, but she doesn't strike me as the type for large diamonds."

"I'll get it, then," Newt decides, reaching for his money pouch. His book sales have skyrocketed back home, and as a result his Gringotts vault is rapidly filling up. (He's left persistent instructions to spend these earnings on his mother.) To be honest, money is one of the only reasons he's even participating in these book tours, the other being that he enjoys the bits where he gets to talk about his beasts, and a tertiary one being that Tina seems to have taken it upon herself to manage him. Accordingly, he has quite a lot of it and can’t think of anything better to spend it on.

"39 dragots, 13 wampums, and 17 sprinks," Rufus says (which, Newt has finally figured out, would equal 49 galleons, 2 sickles, and 20 knuts). As he withdraws his money pouch, he’s struck by the ease with which he accepts such a large figure, and isn't sure how he feels about it. He's grown up around a certain degree of wealth, of course, and possessing it, well… call him overly modest (he's sure Tina will), but it isn't an entirely comfortable sensation. He pauses, considering this. Rufus clears his throat then and Newt jumps. He really _must_ get ahold of this getting-lost-in-thought tendency. Fortunately, the jeweler doesn't seem to mind.

“Sorry, so sorry,” he fumbles.

“Not to worry. Would you like an inscription, Mr. Scamander?”

“A what?”

Rufus smiles at Newt’s ineptitude when it comes to the world of fine jewelry. Newt, for his part, actually finds some sort of comfort in knowing that despite fame and money, he's still fulfilling his reputation as scatterbrained eccentric zoologist. “You don’t have to,” the jeweler explains, “but it’s often a very romantic touch at a reasonable fee. The inscription, when written by you, will cast a protective charm on the ring, such that no one but yourself and your fiancée can remove it.”

He likes the sound of that very much. “Alright, then,” he agrees, and piles more gold on the counter.

* * *

Most of his American income now spent, Newt steps out onto the street, the velvet box burning a hole in his pocket. He looks around and can't find any trace of his travel partners — that is, until Queenie materializes in front of him, beaming.

"I heard ya," she says impishly.

"Where's Tina?"

"In the bathroom. Let me see."

"Queenie!"

"Please?"

"Fine," he acquiesces, but herds them into a little lot behind the pharmaceutical. There, feeling extremely paranoid, he opens up the velvet box. Queenie gasps, taking its contents delicately into her fingers, then points to the inside of the ring.

“What’s that?”

“That’s... well. It’s an inscription, you see.” Newt scratches the back of his neck and coughs. “Perhaps it’s a bit too —”

She rotates the ring. In Newt’s messy handwriting, the simple yet weighted word _Yours_ is carved into the smooth metal interior. “It’s perfect, Newt,” she says… tearfully?

“You don’t think she’ll mind about the stone?” He's made a valiant attempt at adhering to the Rules of Society in his time here, and he's aware that engagement rings typically include some sort of setting. However, in this particular circumstance, he feels that a breach of those rules _might_ just be appropriate.

Queenie looks flabbergasted at his doubt. “Not at _all!_ Teenie isn’t one for diamonds, unlike me.” She grins, flashing her own engagement ring at him. “This belonged to Jacob’s grandma.”

He acknowledges this tidbit of information, then leans in closer, lowering his voice. "Swear," he says, dead serious. "Queenie, you must _swear_ not to tell."

"I swear, I swear," she replies in an attempt to match his seriousness but clearly at war with the smile trying to force itself on her face. She manages to sober. "I won't. Really, I promise."

"Not a word to _anyone_. Not even Jacob."

Her face falls. "But... he's my fiancé."

"That's — that's — alright, fine," Newt concedes. "But ONLY him. You swear?"

"Yes," she keeps a straight face for a few seconds at least, before beaming and emitting a little excited squeak. "Oh, Newt!" The Legilimens (and future sister-in-law, if events transpire as he hopes they might) hugs him while he stands there, feeling very awkward and still concerned about his secret being kept.

Then, with a now-familiar expression, she pulls away, quickly replaces the ring, shuts the box, and presses it into his palm. They return to their original location; barely five seconds later, Tina appears.

“Hey,” she says. She kisses Newt on the cheek and then tucks her hands in her pockets, smiling. "That was nice, the little hug you did back there,” she adds somewhat playfully, motioning at the two of them. “What, did I walk in on a bonding session?"

Queenie wraps her arm around Newt's waist, still grinning ear to ear. "We were just having a _terrific_ talk, weren't we?"

Newt nods helplessly. Tina casts them a vaguely suspicious look, but then a fortuitous distraction arrives in the form of Sophia. She bounds over and embraces each of her friends in turn, inserting complaints about the stupidity of MACUSA’s transportation department as she does so. Tina had granted her clearance for a Portkey, and with some persuasion Madame Picquery made an exception, remarking wearily that if she had a dragot for every exception she makes for this bothersome group of people, she would be a millionaire. Sophia steps back, eyes shining, then rubs her hands together eagerly and asks what the plan is.

"We could go to The Wrinkled Whelk," Queenie suggests. "It's a seafood restaurant.” Her brow furrows. “Oh, I wish Jacob could be here."

Tina pats her on the back, exchanging saddened looks with Newt. "It’ll happen. I promise, one day, Jacob will get to see Puddingstone." He and Tina really _are_ lucky, he thinks. If he had to hide even one ounce of their relationship, he would probably combust.

"I hope so," the Legilimens says forlornly, then perks up and turns to Newt. "Have you had Boston lobster yet, honey?"

Newt replies that no, seeing as he had literally never set foot into Massachusetts until today (it's an odd title for a state, too), he has not had any of the local cuisine. Like that, it's settled, because apparently this is a travesty worthy of death by Sophia and Tina, who grab each of his elbows in turn and steer him into a rickety, homey looking building with a worn wooden sign featuring a cartoon snail and faded lettering. 

The restaurant is packed, so they reserve some seats at the bar and stand around, chatting about the book signing. There is a blessed lack of squealing teenage girls, as well, which reminds Newt to ask for his friends’ input later as to whether he should start disguising himself somehow. It strikes him much later that this was the first time he ever thought casually to ask his friends — _friends_ — what to do. Until now, he didn’t have that luxury.

Sophia chatters away, updating Newt on the state of their creatures, whom she visited before coming over with Queenie. It turns out that he missed a few things at Appleseed Acre and will have to go back after dinner.

Ten minutes later, they're _still_ waiting; Tina complains then that she's tired, and leans back against Newt, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting her head on his shoulder.

"Oh, will you _stop_ ," Queenie says, swatting at them.

"'It's almost the 1930s,'" she recites back to Queenie in the mocking tone that only sisters can adopt.

Queenie is about to make a cutting remark when somebody comes from behind and taps her on the shoulder.

"Nelson!" Queenie cries as soon as she recognizes him, throwing her arms around the young man and kissing him warmly on both cheeks. Then she holds him at arm's length, acting very motherly given that he can't be much younger than she. That said, she was mothering Tina and Newt quite effectively the other day, so it's rather a moot point. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"I'm just having a bite to eat with my mom and Adam."

"Oh, that's just ducky! How _is_ Adam?"

Nelson winces. "A bit stuck up since he got back from Egypt, but that isn't much of a change." He looks at the group of people standing behind Queenie and staring at him. (Tina had separated from Newt hastily as soon as Queenie greeted the young man.) "Um..."

Queenie jumps straight into introductions, apologizing for her thoughtlessness. "This is my sister, Tina; this is her boyfriend, Newt; and this is Newt's assistant and our good friend Sophia." Newt goes a bit red and ducks his head at being called Tina's boyfriend; Tina elbows him gently.

"Hello," Nelson says awkwardly. He seems to be looking at Sophia, who is currently staring at something beyond his shoulder. Queenie stomps on her foot.

"Oh, hi," Sophia says, jolting, and suddenly registers that there's a young man standing in front of her. She extends a hand. "I'm Sophia."

He shakes it, smiling shyly. "Nelson Wisby. I went to school with Queenie. We knew each other from Cooking Club at Ilvermorny."

"Oh." Sophia's voice sounds strained. "Um. You cook?"

"Yeah, just a little. Do you?"

She scoffs. "Me? No. I mean, I've tried, but I'm no better than Newt. He's always almost starting house fires, it's great —"

"Well, we should be going," Newt interrupts her. He's eyeing Nelson suspiciously; the guy seems quite fixated on Sophia and he does not like _that_.

"Newt, don't be so rude!" Queenie hisses, shooting him a Look. From the expression on her face, he can tell she's caught onto his disgruntlement and is not pleased. _Give the guy a chance._

Resigned, he clears his throat and apologizes. "I'm afraid I'm just very eager to be seated," he says.

"No worries," Nelson replies. He seems genuinely understanding, at least. Then he falters. "I don't mean to be rude, at all, but I think I _may_ recognize you...?"  

"Yeah, he's _that_ Newt Scamander," Sophia says with a touch of annoyance, "and people are rude to him on a daily basis, so I wouldn't worry if I were you."

Nelson seems to find this amusing (it was) and laughs (unnecessary), looking a bit too warmly at Sophia, before shaking Newt's hand. "I really appreciate your writing, and what you did for our country last year."

"Ah. Thank you, but those events were equally influenced by Tina."

Nelson's gaze moves to her, where she's half hidden behind Newt. "Tina? I thought I recognized you, but it's been so long since we crossed paths, I wasn't sure. I didn't know you were an Auror! It's not surprising, though, ‘cause you always got really good grades and stuff. But, uh... good job.”

She nods. "Thanks. I remember you wanted to work at a restaurant someday?"

He turns faintly pink. "I did, but... well, Adam isn't too supportive of it."

Sophia looks up indignantly. "Is Adam your brother?" she asks sharply. He nods. "Well, _that's_ ridiculous."

He seems not to know how to respond to her audacity, but the corner of his mouth quirks. "It is, isn't it?"

"Don't let some annoying big brother get in the way of doing what you want to do," she advises him sagely. "Honestly, with siblings. I just got lucky with Newt, I guess." She smirks at him.

"You're related, then?" Nelson asks in surprise, gesturing between the two of them.

"Oh, no, she's just — she's my assistant," Newt corrects hastily.

"Yeah, I'm an only child," Sophia informs him. "Newt let me help out with his creatures after I interrogated him during a luncheon. It was a fun time, huh?" Newt is still watching Nelson, very much not in favor of how interesting the young man appears to find Sophia.

"So you like zoology too?" the young man in question asks presently.

Sophia’s face lights up; Newt feels a rush of fondness, as it reminds him so vividly of himself at her age. "Oh, I adore it," she beams. "I wanted to go into it growing up, you know, but my parents want me to work for MACUSA" — she grimaces — "and if you knew me at all you'd know I'm the absolute worst candidate for _that_ occupation. Except Aurors," she muses, turning and looking at Tina. "But I didn't do well enough in school to be an Auror."

"Really? You seem like you would be —"

"I think that's our table," Tina announces, then cringes when she realizes she inadvertently cut across Nelson. Newt personally doesn't mind the interruption one bit. "Sorry. I'm hungry."

"It's alright," the young man replies, appearing very embarrassed himself. All of a sudden, no one's making eye contact.

"Well!" Queenie finally says loudly, with most definitely forced and overdone buoyancy. "We'll see you around, Nels!"

"You too," he says, and seems on the verge of saying something to Sophia as they file over to their table. Newt clears his throat quickly and steps in between the two, so the gangly 22-year-old is left standing there looking incredibly uncomfortable and rather let down.

* * *

"Oh god, we are the most dysfunctional quasi-family ever," groans Sophia, rubbing her hands over her face. "That was _so_ awkward."

"Don't worry," Queenie says unconvincingly.

"Sorry, Soph," Tina apologizes.

Sophia shakes her head. “It's fine. _You_ were all _weird_ ," she says, picking her head up and pointing accusingly at Newt, who tries to hide behind his girlfriend.

Tina pats him on the arm. "He's just got a touch of protective brother syndrome," she comments offhandedly, looking at the menu.

"Nelson is a nice guy," Queenie says soothingly to the zoologist. “I think you’d like him.”

"He was acting very shifty, that's all I'm saying," Newt retorts.

"It's whatever," Sophia grumbles, "I just kept talking anyway. Now I'm sure he thinks I'm a total —"

"Honey, no!" Queenie gasps. "He was quite taken with you."

Sophia looks at her keenly, as though remembering that she can read minds. "Wait, really? What did he —"

"Queenie," Tina says warningly. Queenie draws back and bows her head, as she had when Tina mentally accused her of flirting with Jacob.

"I can't tell you," she says meekly to Sophia.

"Fine, but so he didn't think I was weird?" she asks hopefully.

Queenie glances at Tina, who rolls her eyes and nods permission. "You're perfectly fine, doll.”

"Is anyone gonna order?" the house-elf behind the bar snaps.

Queenie jumps. "Oh! Yes, umm... if we could just have a minute?"

Being Jewish, of course, neither Goldstein consumes seafood, but they insist that Newt go right ahead and have the full Bostonian experience. Sophia rolls her eyes when he hesitates, accuses him of being overly gallant for Tina, and announces that if he isn't going to eat it, she will.

"Take all the time you need," the house-elf says in a voice thick with sarcasm, once the two are done bickering.

"That's a bit impolite," Sophia remarks, skimming the menu. Then she looks up at Newt and Tina. "Are you guys gonna share appetizers? Because that would be sooo —"

Newt reaches over Tina to cover Sophia's mouth with his hand. "Absolutely _not_ ," he says sternly.

"You two," Tina says, shaking her head.

Sophia grins; Newt glowers slightly at the table. Then, very begrudgingly, he says, "So, Tina, do you want to, erm... share appetizers?"

She puts the menu down and smiles. "I would love to."

Behind them, Sophia snorts.

* * *

"I like Sophia," Tina says softly as they stroll hand in hand down the street, which is much emptier and quieter than before. "She's a good influence on you."

"I don't know why," Newt mutters.

"Hey, people change."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm just saying, out of character can be a good thing. You're, y'know." She grasps for words and comes up dry. "It's just nice to see you more comfortable. You joke around, and you're... it's nice, that's all."

He looks over and smiles at her. "And absolutely _none_ of that has to do with you."

She makes a face. "Don't flatter me too much."

He squeezes her hand. They walk a few paces, lost in their own thoughts and the surprising warmth of the evening. "Sophia may have raised my spirits, but you're the reason I feel comfortable," he confesses quietly. Tina looks up at him, startled. "I joke because — because of you. And evidently the only reason I'm going to survive a single book signing is if you're there, so really... any character change, hopefully positive, can safely be attributed to _you_."

She blushes. “Well, that’s a little _too_ flattering. I think you may have overcompensated.”

Newt stops and raises their joined hands, kissing the back of hers gently. “No, I'm fairly certain I haven't.”

“You guys,” Sophia says, running up beside them, “are disgusting. Hey, Newt, wanna lend me some money?”

“How much?”

“I dunno, how much do you have?”

“What are you using it for?”

“Nothing.”

“Sophia.”

“Newt.”

“Oh, go ahead,” Tina tells him. Feeling as though he’s suddenly become the uncooperative father of the bunch, he removes his money pouch and hands it to Sophia.

“Wow, this is really light. What’d you spend all —”

“Who wants ice cream?” he says loudly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ETA: because of slight backlash, several months after posting this, I decided to make Tina and Queenie kosher (initially I had them secular, and Tina ate lobster, but it upset a reader and I certainly didn't want to do that)!
> 
> Even though it seems hard to imagine at first, I really could see Newt being protective of a sister or a daughter. He would do so fumblingly, of course, but he certainly would not let them face perceived danger, whether in the form of a guy or not. And, daringly, I'm shooting for a bit of character development here (as Tina mentions). Plus, I just adore Sophia.
> 
> And oh man, guys, choosing a ring was so difficult.
> 
> Rings I considered (I didn't really like the idea of a stone from the start tbh):  
>   
>   
>   
> 
> 
> Inspiration for the ring Newt chose:  
>   
>   
>   
> 
> 
> ETA: Finally fixed the bit about being kosher! Tina no longer eats seafood :)


	16. Intermission, Part I: American Currency

Hey guys! I wanted to take a brief intermission just to clarify the currency system I invented (with lots of research), as in the last chapter American magical currency is mentioned. Here's a basic explanation.

* * *

JKR has stated that 1 galleon = 5 British pounds = $6.09. 1 galleon = 17 sickles and 1 sickle = 29 knuts, so 1 sickle = $0.36 and 1 knut = $0.01.

Now. We know that there are dragots, which are probably the equivalent of galleons in terms of being the highest denomination. We also know that there are sprinks. A copy of the magazine _American Charmer_ cost 23 sprinks in 1926, so sprinks are probably equivalent to knuts and are the lowest denomination.

In the 1920s, magazines were around 20-35 cents. However, my numbers were too miniscule when I went by this system, so I concluded that 1 sprink = $0.02, putting the price of the magazine at $0.46 which, if it was very fancy, would still be consistent.

JKR has never provided an intermediate currency (the equivalent of a sickle). The Wampanoag Native Americans in the Northeast (growing up in Massachusetts, I know all about them) used _wampums_ as gift exchanges. Colonists, being silly, thought wampums were an actual form of money, so they tried to mimic that, but it didn’t work out. Anyway, I chose wampums as the equivalent to the British sickle.

By my currency system, 1 dragot = $7.50, 1 wampum = $0.50, and 1 sprink = $0.02 (these are much nicer numbers). Having an even number value for sprinks means it won’t always come out evenly, but in those cases we round up. 1 dragot = 15 wampums and 1 wampum = 25 sprinks (look at all those nice multiples of 5).

In 1927, the value of $4,000, today’s average engagement ring price, was a whopping $299.33. I used this figure to convert both to galleons/sickles/knuts and to dragots/wampums/sprinks.

* * *

If you have questions, please ask! Although I'm operating within the canon Potter universe, I'm definitely adding my own bits and pieces and getting to know it myself.


	17. Intermission, Part II: Puddingstone Place Directory

I didn’t get a chance to describe Puddingstone Place very much in the last chapter. I definitely plan to talk about it more in the future, but I thought I would give a brief rundown for future reference.

First of all, the name originates from Roxbury puddingstone, which is the official rock of Massachusetts. You might notice that I’m slightly biased towards Massachusetts, having grown up here, but it also has a great deal of magical significance due to the Salem witch trials (both “Mercy Lewis” and “Deliverance Dane” were involved in those).

Here’s a list of _some_ of the locations. I haven’t actually finished mapping the entire place out, so there are probably more to come, but I thought this was a pretty good mix. Also, there are other magical stores that are concealed elsewhere; Puddingstone Place is just the only all-wizard village. I’ve included the owner of each establishment next to the shop name.

* * *

Food establishments:

 _Redd, Whyte, and Bleu_ (Samuel Wilson) is an American restaurant. I know the name is super cheesy, but Wilmot Redd (whose name I’ve used as an exclamation in past chapters) was a witch during the Salem witch trials, and obviously our colors are red, white, and blue. Samuel Wilson was allegedly the inspiration for “Uncle Sam” which is still used as a personification of the American government/U.S.

 _Bumble Beans_ (Blodwen Bumble) is a coffee shop run by Blodwen Bumble (unfortunate name, right?). “Beans” is a reference to the fact that Boston, MA is called Beantown, and there’s also a café near me called the Boston Bean House. And, it sounds like “bumblebees,” sort of.

 _The Wrinkled Whelk_ (Ulysses Frye) is the seafood restaurant that Queenie, Tina, Newt, and Sophia go to (where they meet our poor awkward friend Nelson Wisby). In fact, this is an _actual_ name — the name of Massachusetts’s official state seashell. Its scientific name is _Neptunea lyrata._

 _Appleseed Acre_ (the Appleseed family) is a grocery store referencing Johnny Appleseed, a well-known American pioneer. Plus, apples… and it’s a grocery store… get it?

 _The Drippity Cone_ (Priscilla Sprinkle — one of my friends is literally named Sophie Sprinkle, so it’s a thing) is the ice cream shop where Queenie, Tina, Newt, and Sophia probably went after Newt covered up the fact that his money pouch was significantly lighter than before (given the fact that he just bought Tina’s ring).

 _What Ales You_ (Dagbert Beere) is a pun and it’s an actual bar. I don’t think they’ll be going in there anytime soon (particularly if Newt _really_ doesn’t want guys hitting on Sophia) but it’s there.

* * *

Shopping locations:

 _The Spangled Star_ (Rufus Sylver) is the jewelry shop where Newt buys Tina’s engagement ring. It’s a play on the fact that our national anthem is called the Star-Spangled Banner.

 _Lyne D’Papier_ (Lyne D’Papier) is a stationery shop and, you guessed it, a play on the word “lined paper.” This is where our characters will often purchase parchment, sketchbooks, journals, etc.

 _All Dolled Up_ (Zoella Burr) is a cosmetics store that Queenie frequents. Getting “dolled up” means getting dressed up, which was a term that, while originating in 1906, was used frequently in the 1920s. I have an outtake describing it which I might post at some point. I chose Zoella Burr in honor of Zoella Sugg and Tanya Burr, two makeup gurus.

 _Marie’s_ (Marie Trotword & Marie Bones) is a women’s clothing shop, which Tina and Queenie go to while Newt gets the ring. I literally have absolutely no reasoning for the name.

 _Read It & Steep _ (Elvira Gillespie) is a potion shop; its name is a play on the phrase “read it and weep.” This contains potion ingredients, books, and accessories such as cauldrons, vials, etc. Newt will probably want to stock up here. There are subtle differences between American and British potions.

 _Eagle & Eagle _(George Brockway) is the bookshop where Newt has his first book signing.

 _Sew and Tell_ (Malva Midwood) is a play on “show and tell” and it sells everybody’s robes and some No-Maj clothes as well.  

* * *

Practical things:

 _The Whistlestop Inn_ (the Topps family) is the local inn; “whistle-stop” is a North American term for a small unimportant town on a railroad.

 _The American Express_ is the railway station that runs through Puddingstone Place.

 _Puddingstone Post_ is the post office. Duh.

 _The Broom Cupboard_ (the Wood family) is the broom shop. I honestly ran out of creativity there.

 _Wands and For All_ (Wanda & Michael Wilkes) is a terrible, terrible pun. Because there are differences in North America’s history and relationship with wands versus Europe’s, I took the liberty to devise my own system, where all four wandmakers’ wands are available at one central location.

 _Chadwick’s Variety Store_ (Chadwick Baldock) is the pharmaceutical. I’m obsessed with CVS, so I had to throw that in there somewhere.

 _Mesmereyes_ (Lobelia Trelawney) is a weirdo store with just a whole bunch of random things. People like Sybill Trelawney probably shopped here. Think magic globes, vintage enchanted tea towels, the like.

* * *

Hope that was interesting! Regular chapters will resume tomorrow. Today's chapter (chapter 15) took so unexpectedly long that I fell behind, but I'm shooting for daily updates still.


	18. The sun comes shinin' through

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Newt is uncooperative, Tina is still not a morning person, and 20-year-old aspiring magizoologists should not have caffeine. Part one.
> 
> It occurs to Newt that it's extremely amusing to watch this four-foot-eleven firecracker legitimately attempt to drag his lanky frame off the bed. He goes as floppy as possible, lying flat with his legs dangling off the edge, and uses the hand she's not yanking to hold onto the bedpost above his head. 
> 
> “Oh for — don't do that, Newt,” Sophia says, groaning. 
> 
> Chapter title from "When You're Smiling" by Larry Shay, Mark Fisher, and Joe Goodwin (1928)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I'll mention at the end, this is part one, but I wanted to make sure I'm keeping up with daily updates. I personally couldn't stop laughing as I wrote this, but I'm also biased. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the fluff. 
> 
> P.S. Notice how Newt's started calling her Sophie instead of Sophia? I thought that was cute. Also, much like Sophia, I'm a total wreck on caffeine.

_Week 2, Sunday_

Sophia proposes a picnic in Central Park bright and early on Sunday morning. In fact, it's barely half past eight — on a _weekend_ — when she strides into the apartment. Queenie, being oh so wonderful and ever responsible, hears the door unlock (and probably Sophia’s thoughts) and, yawning, comes into the kitchen to greet the 20-year-old.

“Morning, honey,” she says brightly. “Coffee?”

Sophia nods. “Please.”

Queenie goes about setting up breakfast, waving her wand here and there as places set themselves and water boils.

“How d’you look so good when you've just woken up?” Sophia asks seriously as she watches the Legilimens move effortlessly around the kitchen.

“I ask the same thing every day,” Jacob says cheerfully, coming out of the bedroom in his robe and kissing Queenie on the cheek as he reaches past her for a bowl.

“Oh, beat it, both of you,” Queenie laughs. Then she turns to her fiancé, beaming. “Morning, babe,” and she wraps her arms around Jacob. The adoring look on her face makes Sophia slightly want to gag, but because they’re her friends and it’s nice that they’re happy, she only arches one eyebrow.

“Oh, hey, what’re we doin’ today? I got a day off,” Jacob says.

“Right, that's why I'm here.” Sophia perks up. “I thought maybe… we could have a picnic!”

Queenie gasps. “Oh, that's a marvelous idea!”

“Isn't it?” Jacob says in agreement, grinning widely at Sophia and resting a hand on Queenie's shoulder.

“We should go kinda soon, though, before there are too many people and, um.” She wrinkles up her nose in distaste. “ _Newties._ ” This is the new and nauseating name that Newt’s book fans have given themselves.

“How late should we bet Tina and Newt went to bed last night?” Queenie asks Jacob.

“Eh, I'm gonna go with three.”

Sophia’s face lights up. Any potential sort of blackmail on Newt, or at least something she can bring up and watch him blush, is very much appreciated. “Do they really stay up that late?”

Queenie giggles. “They stay up talking just about every night Tina doesn't have to go to work early, and even then.”

“ _Just_ talking?” Sophia says slyly.

Queenie flashes her an impudent smile, then wraps her hands around her coffee mug thoughtfully. “You know, I really think it is just that,” she says. “They like to spend time with each other. Sometimes they don’t even talk, they’re just… together. I'm starting to feel like any day now he's gonna start knowing Teenie as well as I do.” There’s a _slight_ hint of jealousy with this statement.

“They're ridiculous,” Sophia says fondly.

“Aren't they?” Queenie replies.

“They really are,” Jacob assents, somewhat mocking of the two women’s effervescent tones. Queenie pouts at him; he leans in for a kiss and she swats him away playfully.

“Great,” Sophia says, as this seems to be a good time to absent herself. She gets to her feet. “If you wanna put together some picnic things, that’d be swell.”

“Where are you going?” Queenie asks.

Sophia walks over and stops, hand on Tina and Newt’s doorknob. “To give them a wake-up call,” she smirks.

* * *

Newt wakes to someone jabbing him sharply in the side. At first he thinks he's in a dream, then that one of his creatures must have somehow escaped, and nearly tumbles off the bed when he opens his eyes and comes face to face with a grinning Sophia.

“Merlin’s beard,” he mutters.

“Get up!” she demands, grabbing his hand and threatening to haul him to his feet.

“What time is it?”

“Nine o'clock, and I've been up for _hours,_ ” she complains.

He looks to the other bed; Tina is still sound asleep. “You didn't wake _her_ up,” he says indignantly.

Sophia shrugs. “Come _on,_ we made tea for you.”

It occurs to Newt that it's extremely amusing to watch this four-foot-eleven firecracker legitimately attempt to drag his lanky frame off the bed. He goes as floppy as possible, lying flat with his legs dangling off the edge, and uses the hand she's not yanking to hold onto the bedpost above his head.

“Oh for — _don't_ do that, Newt,” she says, groaning.

He closes his eyes and hums. “No, carry on. I'll just have a lie-down…”

“I _will_ hit you,” she warns.

“Mm.”

“NEWT!”

“‘...too early,” he mumbles.

She makes a strangled noise of frustration and relinquishes his hand. Once he knows he’s in the clear, Newt sits up cautiously, rubbing his eyes. His assistant stands in the middle of the room, akimbo and looking very put out.

“What's so important anyway?” he asks blearily, yawning.

“We’re having a picnic at Central Park!” she announces.

“A picnic?”

She rolls her eyes. “ _Yes,_ a picnic, you know, there's a blanket and a basket with food and —”

“Yes, I know very well what a picnic is.”

“Well, sometimes I can't tell, you just sorta stare… although I'm sure you've got _better_ things on your mind,” she says airily, “such as Miss Goldstein.”

At the sound of her name, Tina rouses slightly.

“Oh, bugger, now you've done it,” Newt says, springing to his feet. “Sophie, get a cup of coffee, _now.”_

Sophia _— that little git! —_ smirks. “Why, do we have an _emergency_ situation, Mr. Scamander?”

“If you know what Tina’s like when you wake her up early, then you would fully understand the emergency,” he says, stroking Tina’s forehead placatingly. She stretches a bit, murmuring something.

“Fine,” Sophia says, stomping out of the room and returning just in time. Tina’s sat up in bed, hair (adorably) mussed and squinting in the light.

“There you go,” Newt says, one arm around her, guiding the mug to her lips.

“Mm?”

“Shh, drink up,” he says, smiling encouragingly. Sophia looks incredulous.

Once the Awakening Tina process has proceeded smoothly, they all wander into the kitchen (well, Tina and Newt wander; Sophia has been bouncing off the walls this entire time). “You're lucky she didn't hit you,” he tells his assistant, who still isn't buying that Tina's a grumpy morning person.

“I'll believe it when I see it,” she says skeptically.

“Very well, tomorrow _you_ can come wake her up for work, and this time I won't provide the coffee.”

“Maybe I will,” she says defensively.

“Children,” Queenie says sternly; Sophia glares at her, while Newt points out that he's seven years older than Queenie. Unfortunately, the age argument is proving to be increasingly ineffective, as absolutely nobody seems to take it seriously, including himself.

Jacob taps the large wicker basket on the table next to him. “We made a picnic basket,” he informs the room at large. “I gotta get ready like normal folks” — he looks pointedly at Queenie, who got dressed with a wave of her wand — “and then I'm ready to go. We’re trying to avoid your fans, Newt.”

“What, do they only come out after a certain time of day?” Newt asks drily, taking a sip of tea.

“Oh, shut up,” Sophia says as Jacob goes into the bedroom.“We can eat breakfast there!”

“Let me finish my tea,” he insists.

“You take _forever_ to drink your tea, whenever we’re working and you have to drink tea it's always a 15 minute break at _least,_ and who even needs _that much tea_ a day?”

“I do,” he says smartly.

“Tina!” Sophia complains, looking to Tina for some sort of reinforcement. Tina is still waking up, however, and only makes a sound acknowledging that her name was spoken, then wraps both her arms around Newt’s upper arm and rests her head on his shoulder, eyelids fluttering shut. He takes another sip of tea innocently.

“You’re _all_ ridiculous,” Sophia complains, hopping off the chair.

“Patience,” Newt says loftily.

“You are _literally_ only _ten years older_ than me,” she starts, “and I swear —”

“Oh, Mercy Lewis,” Queenie interjects. “That's enough from the two of you.”

“Yeah, you gotta give the old married couple a chance to regroup,” Jacob says mirthfully as he emerges from the bedroom. This comment earns him a smack from his fiancée. “Ow,” he objects good naturedly, and takes a bite of strudel. Sophia, meanwhile, has started to pace around the room.

“Have you talked to Nelson?” Queenie asks as Sophia frowns and picks up the paper.

“What?” Sophia and Newt say simultaneously. Sophia drops the paper; Newt almost drops the cup.

Queenie raises an eyebrow at their respective responses. “Nelson Wisby. I thought he asked for your address, so he could send an owl.” She pauses, realizing, “Or perhaps that was just him _thinking_ about it.”

“Yeah, it was definitely that one.” Sophia pauses. “So, uh… do you see him often?”

Queenie smiles. “I'm seeing him tomorrow. You can come, if you’d like! He's interested in a small job at MACUSA, you know, while he's figuring out the restaurant business, so I said I’d show him around.”

“Oh. I, uh, yeah — yeah, I’d like to come.”

 _“Wonderful,”_ Queenie gushes. “I really do think you’d get along real well.”

“I need Sophia to _work,”_ Newt says sharply.

“It'll only be _little_ while. I'll be much more agreeable,” Sophia pledges.

“Newt.” Queenie gives him another Look. “Nelson is a nice man, and it would be lovely for Sophia to make a friend.”

“Yeah,” Sophia says, crossing her arms and smirking.

Newt takes a disapproving sip of tea.

“Morning,” Tina pipes up, shocking them all.

“Good morning, Teenie!” Queenie says cheerfully. “Feeling better?”

Tina nods. “Mm.” She straightens up, yawning, then looks surprised. “Sophia?”

“Miss Goldstein, if you wouldn't mind _maybe_ hurrying up a bit,” says Sophia anxiously.

“Are we going to the zoo, then?” Newt inquires.

“If you stop taking a million years,” she responds.

“Tina, eat as slowly as you can,” he says in a stage whisper.

“That poor girl!” Queenie admonishes him as Sophia flounces off.

“It's very sweet,” Tina assures him, smiling over the rim of her cup.

Suddenly feeling self conscious, Newt stares down at the crumbs on his plate. It isn't like him to act this way; he's _used_ to being reserved, awkward, quiet. Sitting around Sunday morning goading Sophia, eating breakfast with Tina, and talking to Queenie and Jacob is so radically different from anything he's ever experienced. It's disconcerting, because he's accustomed to aloneness (and still craves it, sometimes), and because of his so-called attention phobia. But it isn't even _attention_ , he scolds himself. It's… belonging. Belonging to a group. Belonging, as Sophia said the other day, to a quasi-family. It's a novel, thus far rather unpleasant sensation. Coupled with the persistent fear that his fame will one day stop making him uncomfortable and instead turn him into someone he's not, this turn of events, if it can be called that, is overwhelming.

Tina is watching him shrewdly. “Character development,” she reminds him lightly, then kisses him on the cheek. “It's good.”

“It's not just you, y'know,” Queenie says softly, leaning forward on her elbows. “Me and Teen are used to being alone too.”

“Me too,” Sophia puts in, reaching over to take a bite of Newt’s toast. “You're done with that, right?” She points to his still half-full mug of tea and waves her wand; it sails off the table onto the counter next to the sink.

“Really?” Newt says to both sisters, already resigning himself to Sophia's irritating antics.

“ _Yes,”_ Queenie says impatiently. “Oh, I _do_ wish you’d believe us for once.”

“I wouldn't hold out hope,” Sophia says snarkily, leaping across the rug before Newt can retaliate.

“I give up,” the magizoologist finally says, holding his hands up in surrender. “If you give me a moment” — “We’ve given you _multiple_ moments,” Sophia grumbles — “I'll just be right back” — _“Define_ ‘right back,’” she adds distrustfully — “and we can leave.”

“I'll carry the basket,” Jacob offers helpfully, clearly not knowing what else to do with himself. “If nobody else is.” There's a blank silence in which no one volunteers. “I ain't carrying everything,” he warns the girls and Newt as he lifts. “It's almost the 1930s, if you ladies can defeat a wizard like Grindywald” — “Grindelwald,” Queenie corrects him gently — “you can sure as heck carry a darn _basket.”_

“We would never dream of imposing,” Tina says soothingly.

Newt frowns. “Did you just call me a lady?”

* * *

Ten minutes later and properly outfitted, Tina and Newt are _finally_ ready, much to Sophia's satisfaction. “Did you give Sophie coffee?” Newt asks Queenie as they walk to the door.

She freezes. “Was I not supposed to?”

They both turn and look at Sophia, who's chattering away to an alarmed Tina and walking in circles so fast that she's almost gone blurry. One more sip of the caffeinated beverage and Newt is relatively certain she might spontaneously combust, or else throw herself out the window thinking she can fly.

“Maybe not next time,” he says, and reaches for his jacket.

* * *

 Illustrated by the incredible [Fennethianell](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Fennethianell/pseuds/Fennethianell)! The original post is [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8732014/chapters/21165365).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I know this ends abruptly, but I want to make absolute certain I post some sort of update. I'll continue with the picnic sequence and, depending on length and how cooperative my muses are, a scene from Seraphina's POV, hmm...
> 
> This chapter is literally entitled "Oh so fluffy because shit is gonna go down" in my Google doc, so if you're now concerned that it's reverted back to fluff without plot, never fear. I just wrote several incredibly angsty, action-y, plot twist-y scenes at 2 am. They're on their way.


	19. Nothin' but blue skies do I see

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which BAMF Madam Picquery reappears, Newt extends an invitation to England, and Tina gets a new mission.
> 
> Before Newt and Tina can get up and take a walk (as suggested by Sophia), a bird swoops over the group, subtly dropping a small roll of parchment, and flies off. It lands in Tina’s lap and bears MACUSA’s seal. Frowning, she unrolls it.
> 
> Dear Porpentina,
> 
> Please report to my office as promptly as you can.
> 
> Seraphina Picquery
> 
> Chapter title from "Blue Skies" by Irving Berlin (1926)

They reach Central Park by half past ten; Newt mentions something about letting Sophia go for a run like the rest of the dogs and Tina hits him on the arm. “She's just excited to be doing something,” she says reproachfully. “Be nice.”

“I'm a perfect gentleman,” Newt mutters, then leans over and kisses Tina on the forehead. “You should know that by now.”

“Oh, of course,” she says, laughing as he takes a seat next to her.

They unload the picnic basket, Queenie passing out plates and napkins and laying out a proper banquet of food. Perks of living with people who cook, Newt thinks appreciatively.

“Did you bring tea?” he inquires now, still feeling rather forlorn about his half-drunk cup back home.

“Did you bring coffee?” Sophia asks keenly, to which both Newt and Queenie vehemently shake their heads.

“Orange juice,” Queenie suggests quickly, removing a pitcher and a glass.

They settle in comfortably; it’s mid-March, and while the days are gradually warming up enough for such a picnic to be tolerable, there’s still a definite chill in the air. Occasionally Newt wonders if the chill is from the weather or from something slightly more sinister.

Speaking of sinister, he makes a mental note to do a bit more research into lethifolds. The word is that they’ve been proliferating all over the Territory of New Guinea, and though he knows Tina will kill him if he mentions studying such dangerous creatures, he can’t help but be curious.

Someone laughs, shaking him out of his reverie. Sophia is giggling at something Tina (who is looking very pretty in the sunlight) said. Jacob has his arm around Queenie; the pair talk quietly amongst themselves, sharing a plate and looking for all the world like a young couple still in the honeymoon phase despite the engagement ring on her finger.

 _Engagement ring._ Newt had stowed his own (Tina’s) away carefully, of course. At first he’d considered leaving it safely in his suitcase, but then decided he ought to have easier and quicker access, should circumstances _happen_ to warrant an impromptu proposal. Instead, he conceals the ring brilliantly as a ball of crumpled up parchment and shoves it deep into the bottom of his money pouch. It’s also charmed so that anyone trying to remove it will discover that it only zips right back into the pouch. It took quite some time, figuring out that spell, but every bit worth it for Tina.

 _Everything_ is worth it for Tina.

“What’s wrong?” she asks suddenly, searching his face.

“Nothing,” he responds quickly. Queenie casts him a glance; of course, _she_ knows what’s been going through his mind.

“If you say so,” Tina says skeptically.

“Oh, he’s definitely lying,” Sophia pipes up next to them.

“Sophie —”

“It’s fine,” Tina says, patting both of them on the arm. “I trust you.” Then, “When’s your next book signing?”

Oh, Merlin. Those _cursed_ book signings. He’s only been through one and already dreads them. “I have one on Tuesday and one on Friday,” he says proudly. “See, I remember.”

“Good, so you did your job,” Tina says in an unimpressed tone but a definite _there-goes-my-magizoologist-again_ smile.

“Yes, but _you’ve_ taken it upon yourself to become my manager,” Newt retorts.

“That’s true,” his girlfriend (girlfriend! Come to that, they haven’t officially discussed the nature of their relationship, although she didn’t object when Queenie introduced her as such to Nelson) admits. “Well, I don’t like leaving you floundering around out there.”

“He _does_ flounder, doesn’t he. I noticed that about him the first time we met,” Sophia chirps. “I pointed it out. I tried to be nicer about it, though.”

“And _that’s_ certainly no longer the case,” Newt says.

“You _love_ me already,” Sophia shoots back.

“Actually,” he says to the group (not deigning to respond to his pesky little assistant), “I wanted to ask — er — I had a, a question.” Feeling very awkward now that everyone is listening, he ducks his head.

“Hey,” Tina says, gently lifting his chin and looking at him earnestly. “It’s fine.”

“I — erm…”

“D’you want us to all look away?” Sophia quips.

As was probably her intention, Newt is abruptly reminded of their conversation in the hallway. She was right, as always: he _must_ stop doing this, stop panicking every time he realizes he has friends. He pulls himself together. “When we were at Puddingstone Place, the other day, I noticed that — that a lot of people were recognizing me. I wasn’t sure if… well, if I should be… doing something about it. Because you see, I’d much rather not be, erm… ogled, by these — these…” Stating that he’s being ogled by “girls” feels like a dicey thing to say, so he settles for, “These... fans. If they _are_ that.”

“You mean your Newties?” Sophia smirks. He blanches.

“That’s what they’re calling themselves now?”

Everyone nods.

“Oh _no,”_ he groans.

“What, are you talking about disguises?” Jacob asks. “Like Tina did, that thing at The Blind Pig? Can you _all_ do that?”

“Of course we can!” Queenie replies, as though insulted that he would ever think otherwise.

“There are metamorphogi in the wizarding community,” Tina explains, “but those are rare. They can change their appearance at will. We usually use Polyjuice Potion — that’s what I took, when I was tracking Ogbourne — but you can use spells, too, to alter your appearance. And Invisibility Cloaks, of course.”

Jacob gawks, then shakes his head. “Unbelievable.” One year practically _living_ with two witches and he’s still constantly mindblown.

“Anyway, to answer your question, Newt,” Tina says, turning back to him, “there are some simple spells you could do to look _slightly_ different, but I doubt you want to do that every time you go in public.”

“Invisibility Cloaks could be a pain, though,” Sophia points out. “I mean, having to just whip it out whenever… you’d have to go somewhere to put it on first, ‘cause it’s pretty obvious if someone just disappears in the middle of the street. Maybe a Disillusionment charm?”

“Those tend to be easily detected,” Tina states in an Auror-y tone of voice. “It’s one thing if, say, you’re flying somewhere and want to conceal yourself, but for day-to-day…”

“Oh.” Newt’s face falls a little.

“It’s not _that_ bad,” Tina says unconvincingly. “You just get nervous.”

“It’s… they just jump up at me, and they talk so fast. I don’t… and when they see me in shops or walking down the road, it’s — I just want to be left _alone,”_ he says desperately. “And I’m worried that it will get worse.”

“It won’t,” everyone says at the same time.

It does.

* * *

Seraphina paces back and forth, her robes whipping past the fireplace and fanning the enchanted flames.

 _Lucille Wadcock._ The name is familiar, but she can't seem to place precisely why. Rubeus Ogbourne — the suspect Tina had been tracking before Madam Picquery dismissed the investigation as a red herring — has been discovered, questioned, and safely locked away, but much to her frustration, he revealed no information as to Grindelwald’s whereabouts. He only stated that he was operating under instructions from Lucille Wadcock and that he had never had direct contact with the wizard. After admitting to carelessly exploding several No-Maj homes in Houston, he claimed that it was an isolated incident and promptly clammed up, forcing them to to abandon the interrogation.

 _Wadcock._ Tina had mentioned the name to her after talking to Rubeus at The Blind Pig. Something about pulling strings from Scotland. But why does it sound so familiar? Seraphina begins flipping through the pile of records left on her desk. A Lillith Wadcock born about 50 years ago is marked for a few small misdemeanors; could she be Lucille’s mother, perhaps?

At a loss, Seraphina sinks down into her chair and rubs her face. This could be a game-changing lead, but she certainly can’t pursue it. If it’s true that Lucille has staked out in Scotland, there’s no way given her presidential duties that she could travel so far. Her staff is perpetually spread thin, and many of her Aurors are currently distributed across the country trying to investigate and protect against the recent surges of unexplained explosions, poisonings, and kidnappings.

There’s Tina, of course. Strong-minded, willful, determined to prove her point. She has a good head on her shoulders; Seraphina privately thinks that Newt has somehow mellowed her out. Perhaps he’s humbled her, or perhaps her happiness with him has translated into a less uptight attitude towards work. Granted, Tina is still on unofficial probation in Seraphina’s mind; she’s been keeping the woman close to home, handing the bigger and more dangerous assignments to longer-standing employees. But there’s no one else, it _has_ been a year, Tina is already familiar with the case, and she  just may be up to the challenge.

Then she remembers that Theseus Scamander had mentioned inviting Newt to their home, which is in _much_ closer proximity to Scotland than New York. She wouldn’t be surprised one bit if Tina is also going, although she isn't sure when exactly the Auror planned on breaching the subject with her boss. Perhaps Newt hasn’t mentioned it yet? That man still acts half-terrified in Tina’s presence, which is both highly amusing and mildly concerning. Seeing as she has a country to run and a world to save, matchmaking for two people who once graced Wanted posters falls to the bottom of her priorities. Still, she does hope to see a ring on the Auror’s finger at _some_ point.

Tina it is, she decides. They’re probably enjoying a day off, but, well, duty calls and there’s nary a moment to waste. Now to ascertain their whereabouts…

* * *

The food, as always, is delicious. Jacob has really outdone himself; between him and his fiancée, Newt is pretty certain he’s going to return home several pounds heavier than he left. Which, according to Mum and Theseus and Tina and Queenie and Jacob and virtually the whole world, is a good thing. It’s true that sometimes he forgets to eat, when he’s wrapped up with his creatures. Tina, however, has given Sophia full permission to throw food at him (a term the assistant took literally) every few hours to ensure he keeps his strength up.

Before Newt and Tina can get up and take a walk (as suggested by Sophia), a bird swoops over the group, subtly dropping a small roll of parchment, and flies off. It lands in Tina’s lap and bears MACUSA’s seal. Frowning, she unrolls it.

_Dear Porpentina,_

_Please report to my office as promptly as you can._

_Seraphina Picquery_

“Bit wordy, isn’t it,” Sophia says sarcastically as she peers over Tina’s shoulder. “Could do with a bit of editing down, I think.”

“Why would she want _me?”_ Tina asks, confused.

Newt has a very obvious answer for _that._ “Because you’re the best Auror MACUSA’s ever seen, of course.”

Tina blushes. “That’s not —”

“You should probably go,” Sophia interrupts. “‘Cause, you know, she’s the president and all. We’ll wait here. Go on, it's fine.”

Tina stands, looking unsure. “Alone?” she asks in a small voice.

Everyone turns and stares at Newt. He balks. “I — I… I’d love to come, but she’s already had quite enough of me, I think, and I’m not altogether sure she’d be —”

“No, you have to go,” Sophia says, pushing him to get up. He defers to Queenie, who hesitates before nodding, and then Jacob, who nods sagely after seeing his fiancée do so.

“Madam Picquery —”

“...should know that if she invites Tina somewhere, _especially_ on a weekend, you’re gonna show up too,” Sophia replies.

“It’s true,” Queenie agrees.

“I…” He looks at Tina, whose uncertainty makes him feel terribly guilty for even hesitating. “It’s only because of your job, see,” he clarifies, “as I’d hate for you to get in trouble or, er…”

“Yell at you in my office?” she says wryly.

“Yes, that,” he concedes, scratching his temple awkwardly.

“If you two don’t go now...” Sophia starts menacingly. “Besides, at this rate Newt’s never gonna finish his _tea.”_

“She makes a good point,” Tina admits, and takes Newt’s hand. “Come along, Mr. Scamander.”

* * *

About twenty minutes after sending the pigeon, there’s a crack and Tina lands on her carpet, followed by Newt, who (having once again lost his balance on the landing) gets to his feet and shakes his hair out of his eyes nervously. “Hello, Madam President,” he says.

As Seraphina gestures for them to take a seat, Tina and Newt appear to have a silent conversation conveyed through various looks, blinking, and mouthing a few words before Newt speaks up, “So sorry, but — er — you _did_ mean just Tina, in the — erm — in the note, you know, because if you did, I can —” Tina glares at him, not so subtly kicking his ankle. Presuming that the Auror had thought better of Newt offering to leave, Seraphina takes a deep, steadying breath. These _people._ Part of her wants to blame it on the somber state of affairs, but she’s almost positive that under positively ideal circumstances they would be equally taxing.

“I rather assumed, as we all do at this point, that you are a package deal,” she says drolly. Newt looks surprised, then thoughtful, then pleased. “Now. Miss Goldstein. You recall your conversation with Rubeus Ogbourne, yes?” Tina nods, a question visibly forming on her lips, but she snaps her mouth shut. “You brought to my attention the name of Lucille Wadcock. At the time, I dismissed it, for which I apologize. It seems that she has some manner of authority and involvement, possibly with Grindelwald, and that she is also currently operating from Scotland. Given that the majority of our Aurors are stationed elsewhere, and that you have produced excellent work, I would like to assign you this investigation.”

Tina gapes; Newt looks smug. “Told you so,” he mutters.

“Mr. Scamander,” Seraphina says disapprovingly, raising her eyebrows at him. He bows his head, mumbling an apology. “Miss Goldstein?”

She still looks stunned at the offer. “I — of course I’d like to, but how would I get to Scotland? It's miles from here, and I know Portkeys and transportation have been —”

“I thought perhaps you could take a shorter route once you’ve arrived in England,” Seraphina suggests. Tina frowns at her, uncomprehending. _Oh, for the love of Deliverance Dane._ It would seem Newt has _not_ presented his invitation yet.

“I’m not going to England,” the Auror says presently, looking befuddled. “I mean, I can, but if you’re going to send me to Scotland, I would _think_ it should be directly to — sorry, Madam President.” She bites her lip, evidently not wanting to be argumentative.

Seraphina fixes her imperious gaze on the magizoologist, who now appears supremely uncomfortable and is staring at something quite fascinating on the floorboard. “He hasn’t exactly said _yes_ yet,” he says.

That’s no excuse. “But he will. You know he will.”

“I don’t know that,” Newt objects.

“Can someone tell me what you’re talking about?” Tina asks, looking, if possible, even more perplexed.

“Mr. Scamander,” Seraphina says laconically, and waits for Newt to speak. After all, it is general knowledge (common sense, really) that when the President of your country is sternly instructing you to communicate with your girlfriend, whom she’s also just selected for a Very Important Mission, you oblige.

Abiding by this rule (at least he grasps _some_ rules, Seraphina thinks snidely), Newt emits somewhat of a mixture between a sigh, cough, and clearing of his throat. “Right. Erm… Tina.” He turns slightly to face her. “I was only wondering if — you see, Theseus invited me to England, to see Mum, and I thought — if you _wanted,_ of course — you could perhaps… accompany me? I know it’s — it’s — well, we haven’t been, er… _together_ very long, but it’s the only time — and I don’t want to leave you again —”

Eunice _Frye,_ if this man does not get it together Seraphina is going to have to take legal action. “Please stop,” she says, utilizing her most domineering voice, which is usually reserved for restoring order during lengthy and raucous international meetings, not fireside relationship counseling. “Miss Goldstein?”

Tina is beaming. “Newt, I’d love to!” she says, moving to hug him but realizing that they are currently in the office of the President of the Magical Congress of the United States, discussing very grave matters.

“So… that’s, er… that’s sorted,” Newt states.

Seraphina wants to bang her head on the nearest wall. Instead, she allows another small smile, and concludes this meeting — which, if she’s being honest, went about as smoothly as she could have expected a meeting with Newt Scamander and Tina Goldstein to go. “When do you leave for England?” she asks.

“We’re taking a Portkey next Thursday,” Newt replies.

“Do you think it can wait that long?” Tina asks anxiously.

Seraphina hesitates. In this climate, nothing can wait for any amount of time, but as has always been the woe of politics, reality must also be acknowledged. “For now, it is not the most urgent matter we are addressing. However, if you could please do some research in the interim” — she waves her wand, and a box filled with books and old records appears — “I would be greatly indebted to you.” _Well, technically, it’s also your job._ “How does that sound?”

“Madam President,” Tina enthuses, “it sounds wonderful.”

“Excellent. Now please, get out of my office.”

They follow her instructions, Disapparating with a crack, and Seraphina is left with a stack of papers, a plethora of unanswered questions, and a knot of dread in the pit of her stomach. _It’s just another day,_ she thinks gloomily. _Just another day._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're enjoying this so far! What started as gratuitous Newtina flangst has turned into this. I'm not sure how I feel about the beginning chapters now, since they were _so_ Newtina-focused and now we're branching out a bit (but still VERY much Newtina-focused). I think it was probably a good foundation to build their relationship and kick off the narrative... hopefully?
> 
> I just tend to have high hopes for things such as this, particularly since I've gone and taken it upon myself to create an entire wizarding world *covers face with hands*


	20. Don't know what's comin' tomorrow, maybe it's trouble and sorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tina is a workaholic, Sophia finds out Newt's full name, and Newt worries that Tina's losing interest.
> 
> “I don’t want to move.”
> 
> “Evidently.” Then, exasperated, “Tina, really. I want to go to bed.”
> 
> “I’m not stopping you,” she points out.
> 
> “Yes, but you know that I’m not going to go to bed without you,” he replies.
> 
> Chapter title from "Side By Side" by Harry Woods (1927)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have, of course, done research into Territory of New Guinea already, hence the ecological terms Newt uses. I'll post an "Intermission" much further down the road, though, because they won't end up there for several weeks yet.
> 
> I'll probably post the next chapter tomorrow: get prepped for a new OC and a jealous Tina. It's gonna be a party. Also, coming soon will be a list of American candies and an intermission chapter on American Hogsmeade!

_Week 3, Monday_

Tina spends Monday locked in her office, gulping down cups of coffee and trying to learn as much as she can about Lucille. She’s beginning to suspect the name must be a pseudonym, because _nothing_ has come up after nine hours of ruthless searching. Nobody knows whether or not Lucille is American-born, or where she grew up. Tina tries a number of charms and spells and gets kicked out of the library twice. And still, nothing.

Newt attempts to drop by during the time she usually takes for lunch, but she barely acknowledges his existence. She feels a little bad about it in retrospect; however, he ought to understand, the amount of time _he_ spends locked up in a suitcase. At least her office has candy.

Queenie shows up at the end of the work day and tries to coerce a reluctant, _there’s-still-so-much-to-do_ Tina into coming home. Although they’re well-matched in stubbornness, the Auror wins and promises she’ll be home before ten (which Queenie correctly interprets as “before midnight”). She doesn’t see Madame Picquery all day.

When she gets home at half past eleven, exhausted and discouraged with only a sheet of jotted notes to show for all of her efforts, Newt is sitting on the couch, scribbling away on one of his many notebooks. His face lights up when she walks through the door.

“Hi,” she says wearily, hanging up her jacket and hat. “What’ve you done all day?”

“Sophie and I are trying to expand the suitcase. If we move some of the creatures around, it might work. In terms of magic… well, I’m not quite sure yet, but we’ve made some progress with potions.” He holds up the journal. “I’m trying to write down as many recipes as I can recall.” Then, a little more shyly, he pats the spot next to him; Tina sits down and — it’s a miracle! — he puts his arm around her. “Where’ve you been?”

“At MACUSA,” she groans, turning her face into his shoulder. How does he always smell so good? Grass and wind and herbs and some unnameable quality that sings _home._ She associates it with their first confrontation, with the first time he held her (albeit in a near-death situation), with the first night they spent sharing a room, with the first time she opened up even the smallest bit to tell him about her past — with their first kiss, and with so many moments and memories and things to come.

“Are you _smelling_ me?” he asks.

“No,” she lies. Then, defensively, “You smell good.”

“I’ve been sweating and digging up erumpent manure all day. If that smells good to you, then I daresay I’ve a concern or two about your olfactory functioning,” he replies amusedly.

“It’s not like that,” she tries to explain, feeling rather embarrassed now. “I don’t know, it’s just… nice.”

He gives her a one-armed squeeze. “Thank you, then.”

They sit in companionable silence for a few minutes, just like that, his hand rubbing her arm gently. Before she knows it, she’s starting to drift off.

“Hey,” Newt says, poking her. “Not yet.” He stands up — she protests loudly, slumping limply to the side — and offers a hand. “Come now,” he says sternly, frowning at her when she refuses to move.

“I’m tired.”

“I can see that.”

“I don’t want to move.”

“Evidently.” Then, exasperated, “Tina, really. I want to go to bed.”

“I’m not stopping _you,”_ she points out.

“Yes, but you know that I’m not going to go to bed without you,” he replies, then looks mortified and starts stammering. “I mean, if you wanted to — I didn’t mean you _had_ to — it’s just a fact that I —”

Tina pulls herself up then, because really, how can anyone argue with such sound logic? Sighing, she takes Newt’s hand as he leads her into their room. The last thing she’s aware of is his thumb swiping softly across her cheekbone and the warm press of lips on her forehead.

* * *

_Week 3, Tuesday_

Newt wakes up, checks Tina’s bed automatically, and jumps to his feet in mild panic when he realizes it’s empty.

“Tina?” he calls urgently, opening the door into the apartment, then stops. “Oh.”

Tina and Sophia wave at him from the kitchen table. “You good, Newt?” Sophia asks. He sits down next to Tina, kissing her good morning, and then reaches over and firmly slides the coffee pot out of Sophia’s reach.

He turns slightly red at the question. “I just… I’m used to Tina being there, that’s — that’s all.”

“Awww —”

“I have a book signing today, don’t I?” he cuts across his assistant.

Tina nods. “We have an hour to get ready.”

“Are you absolutely _positive?_ Because last time —”

“Oh, we are NOT getting into this again, Mr. Scamander —”

“I’m only _saying_ that if you said you would arrange transportation, that _implied_ that you would also be punctual —”

“I only said I’d arrange the Portkey, not be your personal alarm clock —”

“Y’know, Jacob’s right,” Sophia says thoughtfully. “You _really_ act like an old married couple.”

This shuts both of them up sufficiently. After a brief pause, Tina continues, “Anyway, it’s not at Puddingstone Place this time, it’s in Boston.”

“Mm,” he says; this information means virtually nothing to him.

 _“Boston,”_ Tina repeats. “You know where that is, right?”

“Ah, yes. Massa — Massa-whatever.”

“How have I not kicked you out yet?” Tina asks. “Or quit as your manager?”

He smiles. “Because of my undeniable charm.”

Sophia snorts over her danish. “Yeah. _That’s_ definitely it.”

“Boston is the capital of Massachusetts,” Tina informs him. “We’re going to Platitudinous Pages. It’s run by Stella Pesce — she was a year older than me at Ilvermorny, but everyone compared us, because we were both pretty studious. She’s _really_ nice.”

“That’s a rather long name for a shop, isn’t it?” Newt says.

“You’re one to talk, Newt Artemis Fido Scamander,” Tina counters.

“IS THAT HIS FULL NAME?” Sophia’s grinning ear to ear. “Oh, that’s _amazing,_ Newt, I didn’t know that!” She scampers over to the suitcase, which she’s dragged at some point into the living room, and steps in, calling, “I’ll check on the creatures now, you don’t wanna be late!”

“Please tell me she’s not coming,” he mutters to Tina.

Sophia pops up. “I sure am!”

“Why would you do that?” he hisses at Tina.

“What, the name thing or inviting Sophia?”

“Both.”

“Well.” She puts her cup down. “The name thing was because I like everything about you, including your name, and I invited her because I know for a fact that you care about her. And I’m fairly certain she’ll scare off the Newties if they get too close.”

 _Newties._ Preposterous. Newt shakes his head, then pauses. “You like everything about me?”

Tina flashes a dimple at him. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“All the dodgy bits too?”

Tina moves closer. “All the dodgy bits.”

“Do you _really,_ though, is the question.”

She beams, now centimeters from his face. “I really do.”

He leans in for a kiss just as the suitcase cover flies open and Sophia materializes. “Forgot my journal!” she says cheerfully, grabbing it off the sofa, then stops. “Oh, no, were you two having a moment?”

“Just a smidge,” Newt says helplessly.

“Okay, you have ten minutes to _have a moment_ and then I’ll be back,” she announces, and the lid slams shut once again.

* * *

Platitudinous Pages is concealed within a broken-down office building somewhere in Boston. Newt grows increasingly nervous as they near the store; sensing this, Tina squeezes his hand. “It’s going to be fine,” she says quietly. “You _like_ talking to people, you just have to get through the first part.”

“Couldn’t someone do it for me?” he asks petulantly.

She laughs fondly and pecks him on the cheek. “You’ll be fine, my eccentric magizoologist.”

It’s enough to elicit a smile, but he’s still tightly wound by the time they reach the door.

“Hey,” Sophia says seriously, grabbing his arm. He looks down at her. “It’s gonna be okay. You _know_ I’m always right, we’ve established that, so when I say it’s gonna be okay, _it’s gonna be okay._ Just… don’t look at everyone yelling at you. Look at me and Tina. You’ll be fine, plus the only way you’re ever gonna get over any problem is to face it head on, so.” She shrugs, then gives a warm, genuine, not teasing smile. “You got it, big bro.”

 _Big bro?_ Newt mouths as they approach the window. Well, _that’s_ new.

* * *

In the end, the Platitudinous Pages event isn’t _quite_ as bad as his last one. Seeing as this shop is located in a No-Maj city, there are fewer attendees, and most of them are intellectuals who are genuinely interested in his field of study. Sophia does her due diligence and wards off the handful of Newties who try to accost him during the signing. Almost all the books are sold, and Tina was right about Stella’s niceness; understanding his overwhelm before his own manager and girlfriend could step in, she herself started telling reporters off. She can’t be much taller than Sophia, but what she lacks in height she more than makes up for in her delivery, and thus effectively quelled everyone who was starting to send Newt into a tailspin.

Afterwards, they go straight home so Tina can continue her research. It’s a little distressing, Newt has to admit, watching her close the door on him so abruptly, but it’s her job. There’s a small part of him constantly worrying that she’ll get so caught up in this investigation that he’ll fall by the wayside.

“Don’t worry,” Sophia says, patting him on the back. “She’s just busy.”

“I suppose,” he says glumly.

He’s also growing concerned about the prospect of traveling — not to England, but to Territory of New Guinea. This is a topic he has yet to bring up with Tina, and he admits he’s dragging his feet a bit in doing so.

“I want to go to the Sepik river,” he tells Sophia avidly, “and the forests.” Both littoral _and_ swamp forests in Territory of New Guinea contain a wealth of foliage: he’d very much like to get a good look at the Burmese rosewood, paper bark, and sago trees in particular, because he has a terrific feeling that there are a number of undocumented species hiding out there.

“Are you gonna tell Tina?”

Newt sighs. “I don’t know.”

“Well, I’m no expert, but I’d say you have a better chance of a good response if you tell her in advance rather than waiting until you’re on the ship.”

“I don’t intend to wait _that_ long,” he grumbles. Just… not yet.

“Speaking of waiting, how long d’you think you guys will wait before getting married?”

Newt almost drops the vial he’s holding. “What?”

“I’m just asking for an estimate, is all. ‘Cause, you know, I have this dress I thought I might wear to the ceremony and —”

Newt grabs a nearby dishtowel and whacks Sophia in the head with it.

“Oh my god, you’re blushing,” she says, gaping at him in delight. “You _really_ want to marry her?”

“I — I said no such thing,” he splutters.

“You did, you _so_ did. I was half joking, but I’m not surprised. So, are you actually going to propose?” Eyes shining, she looks positively _thrilled_ with this turn in conversation.

Newt couldn’t disagree more. “No! And why should I tell you?” he asks in outrage.

“I mean, Queenie will be matron of honor — I’m _sure_ she and Jacob will tie the knot soon enough, although of course it depends on when _you_ propose — so I might be demoted to flower girl, but obviously I’ll be very involved in the process —”

Newt grabs a hunk of meat and tosses it onto the table with unnecessary force. “You will _not,”_ he says firmly, and hands her the cleaver. “Fairclaw needs a feeding.”

“You are _sooo_ in love, it’s disgusting,” she says, still beaming.

“I have to feed the mooncalves,” Newt mutters, and then, much more passive aggressively than usual, “don’t chop off any of your fingers.”

She waves the cleaver in the air as he stalks off in a huff. Yes, he wants to marry Tina. Yes, he has a bloody ring. But no, of course he’s not going to ask her to marry him. _“But why?”_ he can hear Sophia whine in the background.

He has a _very_ good list of reasons not to, he thinks crossly as he scoops their food pellets into a bucket. First of all, they haven’t been together long enough. Granted, it’s been long enough for _him,_ but surely not for her.

Second of all, she’s caught up in this Ogbourne/Wadcock case and barely acknowledging his existence, which brings up the other question of whether she’s _really_ going to keep liking him or if eventually that will fade. Perhaps he was just a distraction during a lull in action and now that she’s got something exciting to focus on, he has no purpose in her life.

Third of all, he’s scared that she’ll say no (obviously). This concern is really twofold: firstly, what if she thinks he’s weird? He’s done a pretty decent job recently, acting sane and comfortable in her company despite inevitable episodes of forgetting how to speak English or make eye contact. That said, he’s still not nearly as “normal” as she may desire. And secondly, he knows for a fact that rejection will break him. _Particularly_ rejection of a marriage proposal. And even Sophia’s angry yet articulate yelling won’t be able to fix it.

But there’s no use dwelling. He has a case full of fantastic beasts to take care of now, as well as an assistant who’s gone rogue, and virtually no time (right now, at least) to bemoan what he perceives as maybe possibly _potentially_ wavering interest on Tina’s behalf.

Out of nowhere, a sandwich hits him in the face. He spins around. Sophia stands there, grinning. “Tina _said_ I could throw food at you,” she says rather gleefully before turning around and marching back to the workshop. Disgruntled as he is, Newt shrugs and takes a bite of the sandwich before getting on with the rest of his day, trying very hard not to dwell on anyone or anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my, the fluff is real. These two (three, really; we can't forget Sophia) are sickeningly sweet, I can't. They're so _comfortable_ with each other now, my heart... yet at the same time the relationship is still new, and they definitely still have Issues to work on.


	21. I wanna be loved by you, just you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tina is jealous, Newt is insecure, and Sophia's dad is not quite as cool as her mom.
> 
> “Come on, Newt.” Tina chews on her lip, feeling incredibly insecure. “Were you not at all interested?”
> 
> “In what?"
> 
> “In dating her,” Tina snaps. 
> 
> Newt mouths the words back to her, as though trying to make sense of a very difficult Arithmancy problem. When it registers, his head snaps up in shock. “Oh. Oh! No. No, of course not.”
> 
> Chapter title from “I Wanna Be Loved By You” by Helen Kane (1928)

_Week 3, Wednesday_

For the most part, Tina doesn't mind the fans. “Newties” are primarily 16-year-old girls who read Newt’s book for school, found it mildly interesting, and then saw his picture, so it’s not as though they’re terribly threatening. _Not_ that Tina’s competitive or possessive in the slightest. Until she meets Dorothy Clifford.

Feeling guilty for not paying attention to him because of her new case, she agrees to meet Newt at the bakery for lunch. As it just so happens, Jacob has to step out abruptly, leaving Newt with a barrage of vague instructions and an encouraging wave. As such, when Tina walks up to the bakery (admittedly several minutes late), she sees her boyfriend behind the counter, shirtsleeves rolled up, talking to… someone.

Eyes narrowing, she watches through the glass window as the woman seems to engage Newt in conversation compelling enough for him to be nodding along, gesturing with his hands, and even making direct eye contact and smiling. Tina openly scowls.

When the woman places a copy of _Beasts_ on the counter, handing Newt a pen, Tina nearly gnashes her teeth together. ( _Statute of Secrecy!_ her mind yells helpfully. It’s most _definitely_ too risky to whip out a magical book in front of a building full of No-Majs.) When Newt takes far too long to sign it, evidently seeing fit to include an inscription, she digs her fingernails into the palms of her hands. And when the woman reaches out to lay a hand on Newt’s forearm, and Newt doesn't move to shake it off, she's had enough.

The bell tinkles rather aggressively as she pushes past the few other customers to approach Newt. His eyes light up when he sees her, followed by a warm smile. _Yeah, well you were smiling just as much at that woman two seconds ago_ , she thinks snarkily.

The lady (Dorothy, as she later finds out) turns to face her. She's older than Tina would've assumed — possibly even as old as Newt — and wearing a rich blue cloche hat, underneath which impeccable waves of shiny blond hair peek out. Her lips are flawlessly overdrawn with bright red lipstick, emphasizing a dainty little Cupid's bow and plump bottom lip. Thanks to Queenie’s magazine subscriptions and attention to subject matters such as cosmetics, Tina recognizes cake mascara when she sees it. And even though it's broad daylight, this woman has the nerve to sport green eyeshadow, applied liberally atop perfectly blue eyes. This is not to mention her enviously petite, boyish figure: although Tina doesn't care much for fashion, and generally doesn't pay her own physique a second glance, she's suddenly painfully aware that she practically towers above the Margaret Gorman ***** clone currently flirting with _her_ magizoologist.

Plastering an incredibly fake smile on her face, Tina brushes past her and says loudly to Newt, “Hi there. Where’s Jacob?”

The woman gives a little gasp. “ _The_ Mr. Kowalski? I’d so love to meet him” — _Yeah, right,_ scoffs Tina, _“meet him” just like you’re “meeting” Newt, Queenie would love that_ — “his baking is just the _berries,_ but he never seems to be around when I come by.”

 _Lucky him._ “Yes, _the_ Mr. Kowalski,” Tina says shortly, flashing a simpering smirk. “He's my sister's fiancé,” she adds.

“But he's a No-Maj,” the woman says in a hushed voice. “My, is that legal now?”

Trapped, Tina can only glare. “It should be,” she says fiercely. “It is in England, anyway.”

“Oh,” the woman replies, a coy smile crossing her face. She turns back to Newt. “ _You're_ from —”

“What about it?” Tina asks flatly, crossing her arms.

Newt chuckles nervously, eyes flicking between the two of them, before interrupting their silent rivalry, “He's only just stepped out a minute. I’m sure he’ll be back any moment now.”

“Well, I'll have to tell him you did a _swell_ job,” the woman says, giggling.

“Better not. He's put off enough by my book’s success, I think. Don't want him thinking I've gotten a big head, you know.” Tina gets an inordinate amount of satisfaction from the fact that Newt has become visibly uncomfortable.

The woman emits another tinkling laugh. “You _slay_ me!” She rests her chin on her hand and gazes up at him flirtatiously; Tina nearly vomits.

“Right, erm, Tina, this is Dorothy,” he says. “Dorothy, this is my… Tina.” _Oh, he did NOT just play that card._ Then again, they haven’t _explicitly_ had the “labels” conversation, but she thought it was pretty damn clear at this point that she’s his girlfriend.

“Pleasure,” Dorothy says in a voice that does not sound like it's a pleasure at all, looking the Auror up and down appraisingly. “So, Mr. Scamander, what does a handsome fella like you do once his shift at the bakery’s over?”

Newt looks at Tina, who’s gritting her teeth. “Well, I actually —”

Unable to take it anymore, Tina pushes Dorothy to the side and leans over the counter, grabbing Newt by the chin and kissing him soundly. He turns bright red, everyone in the shop stops still at this overt show of affection, and Dorothy is effectively silenced. “We have plans,” Tina informs her — and the other customers — firmly.

“I… that's, well, very… good,” Dorothy stammers. “I'll see you around. Thank you, Mr. Scamander.” The look she gives Newt is still more flirtatious than Tina is comfortable with, and her expression as she makes eye contact before leaving suggests that, horrifying as it is, this may not be the last time they meet.

“No problem,” Newt replies politely, still looking suitably embarrassed.

Halfway out the door, Dorothy stops and turns back. _For the love of Pete_. “Actually, I did mean to buy those pastries, if you don't mind just —”

“I'll get it,” Tina says brusquely, walking round to the other side of the counter.

Newt raises his eyebrows. “Do you know how to…?”

“Shhh,” she shushes him forcefully, and hisses, “I can figure it out.”

“Hey, Tina’s ba — oh. Hey, you guys.” Jacob emerges from the back room, looking warily around his shop, where half the customers are staring at the couple who just made a proper spectacle of themselves. “Is there a problem?”

“Not at all,” Tina says airily. “Jacob, if you wouldn't mind, could you just ring this lady up…”

“‘S no problem, no problem,” Jacob says, and gets right to work. “You two enjoy your lunch.”

“We will,” Tina affirms, seizing Newt by the arm and all but frog-marching him out the store.

Once they're outside, Tina relinquishes her grip slightly. It occurs to her that Newt may be less than pleased by her hot-headed, immature, and very controlling behavior; her fears are only further confirmed when he simply looks at her, none too pleased, instead of saying hello.

“Sorry if that was —”

Before she can finish her apology, Newt leads her determinedly to the back of the building, where they won't be seen, grabs her elbow, and Apparates them both back to the small area where they'd first kissed. Only this time, he looks... angry?

“Newt, I —”

“Have you no respect for — for the work I've put into this?” he says in as raised a voice as she's ever heard from him, shaking a copy of his book in her face. “Tina, what, in the name of —”

“No, I can explain,” she says, stomach sinking as she realizes he truly _is_ upset. “Newt, it wasn't —”

“Dorothy was merely interested in the contents of my novel, she was asking questions about it” — _anyone can ask questions_ — “and said her mum also bred hippogriffs” — _bullshit: cold, hard bullshit_ — “and you're the one who complained about all the young girls —”

“I complained about _everybody_ flirting with you, including her.”

“She's _my_ age,” he says defensively. Is he really defending this woman? “Do you know how rare it is that I find women of my age who are such avid readers? She’s intelligent, too, and I rather thought you might get on —”

“We would’ve, if she hadn’t been blatantly _flirting_ the entire time.”

“What are you — flirting? She was a reader, Tina! Perhaps I shouldn't have signed the —”

“Yeah, perhaps you shouldn't have let her touch your arm like that, either,” Tina snaps.

His mouth opens and closes several times. “She what?”

“She tried to touch you. She _did_ touch you. Did you seriously not realize it?”

Newt looks baffled. “No.”

“Come on, Newt.” Tina chews on her lip, feeling incredibly insecure. It's Leta all over again, except this time she has to confront the woman in the flesh. “Were you not at all interested?”

“In _what?_ Conversation with her?”

“In dating her,” Tina snaps. He’s so incredibly _clueless_ sometimes, it drives her crazy, but in the most irritatingly domestic way. _This is the man I have chosen to love._

Newt mouths the words back to her, as though trying to make sense of a very difficult Arithmancy problem. When it registers, his head snaps up in shock. “Oh. Oh! No. No, of course not.”

“She's very pretty,” Tina says in a small voice.

“I hadn't noticed. Truly.”

“All the makeup…” She lets her voice trail off. This time, she's the one avoiding eye contact.

Something in Newt’s expression changes. He's an awkward man, but certainly not stupid. “Oh, is that what that was.”

“That would be it, yeah.”

“Ah.”

“What, are you going to compare me to an erumpent staunchly defending her mate, or something?”

The corner of his mouth twitches. “Perhaps.”

“You really weren't interested at all?” she asks meekly.

“Blondes aren't my type, really,” he says offhandedly.

“She was very pretty.”

“Yes, but see, _you're_ beautiful.”

Her heart stops. The wonderful thing about Newt is that with him there are no pretenses, no games. Every compliment he bestows upon her he states as a fact. “Oh.”

“I believe I did mention that when I first got here,” he adds.

Tina stares at the ground.

“Tina, would you look at me? Please.”

She does, but only for a second. “I feel embarrassed now,” she admits. “I don't know where that came from.”

“No, it's — it's perfectly fine.” Newt licks his lips and fidgets, rubbing his palms on his trousers. He starts to say something, but stops himself.

“Well,” she sighs, “lunch?”

“Yes,” he says. “There's a place somebody told me about.” He pauses. “You _are_ very beautiful, you know. And… and the truth is, I've never wanted to date anyone but you. My whole life.”

“Not even Leta Lestrange?”

“Not even.” He reaches over and tucks her hair behind her ear, pausing to rest his thumb lightly on her cheekbone.

“I'm sorry I doubted you,” she says quietly.

“It's alright. We all must have doubts sometimes,” he responds. He really _is_ changing. It's for the better, of course, but his newfound confidence (even if he doesn't recognize it) and seeming ability to speak without stuttering feels almost like a letdown. Tina _likes_ him being awkward and unable to make eye contact; it makes the moments they share, when he can let go a bit, _that_ much more special. Despite his reassurances, she can't help but worry.

“Wise words,” she says, smiling and temporarily ignoring the fact that her fears are far from quelled.

Newt pauses, tilts his head, then adds, “Although I _will_ say, for being such a clever young woman — far more so than that wretched Dorothy, by the way — that was the absolute _stupidest_ thing you've ever said.”

“Oh, tell it to Sweeney,” Tina says blithely, hitting his shoulder as he laughs. “Come on, I'm starving.”

“Ready?” he ask, and she grips his arm. There's a crack, and then they're gone.

* * *

They decide to go back to the apartment, because according to Tina, it’s impossible to be productive in her office any longer. Madam Picquery probably won’t notice, and if she does she can’t really complain given that pretty much no Aurors other than Tina have been in their offices for the past month.

Newt retreats to his suitcase the moment they step through the door. He walks quickly by Queenie (who went home “sick”), being very much not in the mood to have his thoughts read and discussed right now. Tina looks concerned when he mutters something about taking a break and fails to invite her, but he's sure her sister will be more than happy to fill in the blanks. Besides, he thinks a tad bitterly, he’s certain she has another mountain of paperwork to pore through tonight, so it’s dubious she’ll dwell too long on his absence.

Tina’s jealousy (that's what it was, wasn't it?) earlier caught him off guard. It was the same dizzying, befuddling sensation as when she first kissed him, as though he was something precious and not worth losing. (It’s also the same reason he ended up being yelled at in the hallway by Sophia last week.) It's taken him awhile to recognize that her feelings towards him are more than apathetic or mildly interested, particularly given her recent and worrisome preoccupation with work, and when he looks at her sometimes he still can't quite believe it. That she would harbor feelings for someone like him…

The mooncalves dance around him eagerly as he tosses their food pellets and pats them on the head, checking the more boisterous young ones for new cuts and bruises. Dougal bounded over hopefully when he heard Newt descending, but a look of unmistakable disappointment crossed his face when he realized Tina wasn't there.

It's unnerving to feel this way, to have his whole world tipped upside down. Sometimes he wonders if this is some sort of trick, because why on earth would an intelligent, beautiful career girl such as Porpentina Goldstein want to be with an eccentric magizoologist? Then he recalls Jacob’s response the last time they discussed this at the bakery. “If you think it doesn't add up that Tina likes you, think of how it feels for me being engaged to Queenie.” It's a fair point, although Newt still envies Jacob’s ease with people. “Don't overthink it, man,” Jacob had concluded wisely, and handed him a pastry.

The creatures are mostly accounted for, and he doesn't have any specific plan — he told Sophia she could take a day off, because apparently she has to break it to her father that she’s decided against pursuing any kind of job at MACUSA — so Newt has no direct reason to still be down here. It feels strangely empty without Tina, he realizes: too quiet, too lonely. Sophia fills the void, in a way, and he will admit begrudgingly that he cares a great deal about her, but when he’s alone with his beasts — alone at all, for that matter — it’s Tina he misses the most.

Newt eventually decides to kill time by reorganizing his potion ingredients and attempting to make some kind of inventory. It’s been a few weeks since he dedicated time specifically to look in on the plants he has growing in his greenhouse, and he occupies himself as best he can with these two distractions. And yet he still doesn’t feel right.

It’s because of that one simple fact, which he cannot stop going back to — that Tina treats him as though she both needs _and_ wants him. The alien sensation of being the object of such affection frightens him to no end. Not only is it overwhelming, but with it comes the fear of losing her respect, of someday her waking up and realizing she doesn’t need or want him, thank you very much. He considers how he might feel if he walked in on a man blatantly making advances on her, and her not doing very much to reject him. Tina overreacted with anger; he would likely overreact with hurt. Come to that… didn’t Sophia warn him about all of this?

“She did.”

“Galloping gargoyles,” Newt mutters after recovering from the initial shock of Queenie’s soft voice. “You _could_ give me a bit more of a warning.”

“Sorry, honey. Dinner’s ready” — when had it gotten so late? — “and I thought you should know that Teenie’s all in a lather ‘bout how she acted at the bakery. She thinks you don't like her anymore.”

“That’s absurd,” Newt says immediately.

“Not in her mind.” Queenie hesitates, then suggests gently, “You might want to say something.”

“Why is she so frustrating?”

“Why are _you_ so frustrating?”

“I don’t try to be.”

“Neither does she.” Queenie sighs. “Between the two of you lately, it’s a miracle I’m getting anything done at all. I mean, do you have to be so _loud?”_

“Loud?”

“With your thoughts. They’re so… intense.”

“Oh. Well, er… I’ll — I'll try harder to suppress them, I suppose. Or take it elsewhere.”

Queenie smiles. “Good. Now, up you get, you _boob,_ because Jacob fixed a new recipe and he’ll be downright stormy if you miss it.”

And Newt must admit, although Tina is his primary reason for staying in New York, Jacob’s phenomenal cooking isn’t far behind.

* * *

Sophia waits fretfully for the sound of the door opening. Her dad, George Ollerton, has been gone for a month and a half, and though they’ve stayed in touch here and there, she hasn’t yet told him about a rather more… _significant_ detail. Namely, her new position as Newt’s assistant, which she has a nasty suspicion will not be received well.

Ten minutes later, she can confirm this suspicion. “The thing is, Dad… is that, um.” They’re sitting across from one another in the sitting room; Sophia tries to keep her voice steady and make constant, calm eye contact. With mixed results. “Well, you know I don’t want to work for MACUSA. I’ve found something else I want to do.”

George raises an eyebrow. “And what’s that?”

“...magizoology?”

 _“What?”_ He jumps to his feet in shocked disapproval.

Sophia stands as well and implores, “It’s a really good field, I can travel and find new animals and spend time outdoors —”

“Why would you need to do any of that?” he barks, outraged.

They’ve hardly talked and already Sophia is almost crying with frustration. This is _not_ going to end well. “Dad, _please_ let me do this. _Please._ You _know_ it’s perfect for me.”

“No, I refuse to accept that my daughter is going to throw her life away running around forests drawing pictures and — and — how are you planning to do all of this anyway?” he blusters.

“Um, well, you see… there’s this book, that’s really good, and all the schools are using it in their curriculum, you know… and it’s — you’ve probably heard of it already, it’s been in papers and everything — and I met the author and —”

“Is this that Salamander fellow?” George asks suspiciously.

“Scamander. Yeah.” Sophia sucks in a breath anxiously.

“So this writer guy, he wants to take _you_ into _dangerous_ situations with _dangerous_ beasts, and you want me to be okay with it?” His mouth makes a perfect “o”.

 _Dangerous._ Sophia sees red. “They’re not. Dangerous,” she says through gritted teeth. “And the situations aren’t dangerous either! Mostly it’s just helping him with feedings, learning about the creatures, things like that. It isn't the least bit scary. It's easy, and fun.”

“Oh, so you’ve actually _done_ it already! Ha!” He looks disbelievingly around the room, throwing his hands in the air. “You didn’t want to ask _me,_ of course — does your mother know?”

Ah. _That._ “Um, so… while you were away, Newt — that’s Mr. Scamander — and I actually got into a kind of a situation. We ended up, well, at MACUSA — but it was fine, it’s all fine, they didn’t write me up or anything,” she says hurriedly as she sees her father’s face cloud over. “Newt took the blame completely, I just happened to —”

“What did this man do to you?” he says darkly.

“What? To me? Nothing! Newt’s a nice guy, he’s — he’s like my big brother —”

“So now you’re telling me you’re not going to work at MACUSA, you’re going to play with dangerous beasts, in dangerous situations, with this _random_ gentleman, who’s like your big brother? What did you do to get into trouble?”

“It’s a funny story, actually, ah… so, like, Newt and I were inside his suitcase —”

“SUITCASE?!”

“Yeah, it’s enchanted, it’s where his beasts — come on, Dad, you _know_ all this from last year —”

Comprehension dawns, but not in a good way. “Oho, so it’s the same man? Who nearly _killed_ us —”

“That wasn’t him! That was the Obscurus, we’ve been over this, _please!_ Newt’s a good guy, he just forgot to put protective charms on the suitcase and we —”

“He. Forgot. He forgot to _protect_ you? What is this _man —”_

“No, just so that nobody else could pick it up!” she babbles. “It sounds bad, I know, but he’s done it — the protective charms — ever since, and anyway it was only a few No-Majs —”

His face, if possible, turns more thunderous. _“No-Majs?”_

“They — it sounds bad, I know it does,” Sophia repeats desperately, “but it was fine, Madam Picquery was —”

 _“You met with the President about this?”_ He looks like he might actually have an apoplectic fit.

“Yes, she was — she was very nice about it all, and they didn’t do anything to Newt, either, except have Tina yell at him, of course, which was really pretty adequate punishment —”

He wrinkles up his nose at the mention of a new name. “Who’s Tina? She’s not the Auror, is she? From last year?”

 _Auror._ Right. Maybe if she really sells Tina the Heroic Auror to him… “Yeah, yeah she is. You’ll like her, Dad. She’s really… well, she’s an Auror, see, and she and her sister are lovely people, very responsible —”

“Her sister? How do you know her _sister?_ How much _time_ have you been spending with this man and his — his cronies?” George asks in horror.

Sophia tries to look meek. “The thing is, Newt _asked_ me to be — to be his assistant — he _asked_ and I couldn’t say no, it’s what I’ve always wanted to do — so I have been, and I told you, it’s been wonderful, Dad, I’ve been learning so much already and I love the beasts and —”

He utters a loud noise of disbelief, shock, and outrage. “So you _thoughtlessly_ accepted this position _without_ consulting in your father?”

“You’ve been gone for ages, I didn’t know where you were and I didn’t want to bother you and —”

“And you knew I would disapprove.”

Sophia gulps. “Well, yes, that too.”

George stares at her, then shakes his head and takes off his glasses to polish them. “Sophia Adelaide Ollerton,” he says slowly. “You are _not_ to go back into the case with that man again.”

She almost screams at him. “You don’t understand!” she cries wildly. “Newt’s a good guy, he looks out for me —”

“He didn’t protect the — the box! On your first day working for him!”

“I know, I know, but other than that, I’ve been going with them to book signings and we —”

“Oh, so now you’re his travel companion too? What’s next, stowing away on a ship to Timbuktu?”

“Dad, if you would only _listen,_ please!”

“I will talk it over with your mother —”

“I don’t care, I want _you_ to understand!” she says, fighting back tears. “I’m not _happy,_ here. Or I wasn’t, until I met Newt and Tina and all the others. You _know_ I didn’t do that well in school, you _know_ it was something I just tried to _get by_ in. You’ve seen me with animals before, growing up, all the time, that’s all I wanted to do, remember? I climbed trees and swam in the lake and caught insects — that’s what I _always_ wanted to do, stuff like that.

“And I’m 20 now, I’ve been legal for three years, and I need to do what _I_ want to do! I need to take responsibility for _my_ self, Mom said so, and I _am,_ or at least I’m _trying_ to! I’m always alone, or didn’t you notice? I don’t have _friends_ and I don’t go out. But now, after I met Newt, I _have_ friends, we all go out together, we all —”

“And how old are these _friends?”_

“Queenie’s Tina’s sister, she’s only three years older than me!”

“And Newt and Tina?”

“Tina’s, er… 25, and Newt is… um… 30? But no, Dad, it’s not weird, I told you he’s like my brother, and he doesn’t _act_ 30, really — and I’m mature for my age, really I am, and I’m _good_ with the creatures, he can tell you —”

“Enough. You are done with this job. And I will be talking to your mother about why she allowed this tomfoolery to continue.”

“Dad —” and okay, now she’s crying.

“I’m disappointed in you, Sophia,” he says quietly, and leaves.

* * *

 ***** Note:

Margaret Gorman was the first Miss America in 1921. Back in the 1920s, petite, boyish figures were the beauty standard — so much so that bras were used to compress the breasts! Sadly, however, this was around the time that the craze for being thin and the concept of dieting gained prevalence and has basically gone downhill since.

Glossary 

**tell it to Sweeney:** tell it to someone who'll believe it

 **get in a lather:** get worked up; angry, agitated, anxious, etc.

 **boob:** Dumb guy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments! I'm like so into this story right now, it's ridiculous. I'm really hoping to get to England at the very least by the time break starts, which gives me about 10 days. I've been writing like a maniac ever since I first posted this!
> 
> Comments make me very happy so keep that up for sure, and feel free to share this if you'd like! I have several "intermissions" typed up, including a list of American candies, the American Hogsmeade, rules of wizarding volleyball, potion recipes, and more, so those will be posted as they become relevant.


	22. When you're cryin', you bring on the rain, so stop your sighin', be happy again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tina and Newt sort out their differences and Newt officially fulfills his big brother role.
> 
> “Maybe you just haven’t met the right person,” Tina points out quietly.
> 
> He stares at the floor, then looks up. “Maybe I have now.”
> 
> Chapter title from "When You're Smiling" by Larry Shay, Mark Fisher, and Joe Goodwin (1928)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, alright, this got a bit angsty. I really don't want their relationship moving _too_ fast as to be unbelievable, but I will point out that they've been together basically 24/7 for 17 days straight, and they both certainly have a long way to go with lots of fluffy time in between to get to know each other better.

Tina won’t make eye contact throughout dinner, which is agonizing to Newt because of feelings, and agonizing to the others because of awkwardness. Poor Queenie is probably being bombarded by both of their thoughts at this point. Conversation is stilted, and everyone eats in a hurry so they can clean up and escape the discomfort.

“Hey, Queenie,” Jacob says as they all stand up, mostly not looking at one another. “I was thinking... we haven’t been to my place in a while. How about we, uh, go stay the night, give these two some space?”

Tina and Newt both panic; they can’t lose their buffer (for that’s essentially what the Legilimens has become) in such a dire time. Queenie, thankfully, looks concerned. “Baby… I don’t know if tonight is the best night,” she replies hesitantly.

Jacob flashes Tina and Newt an uncharacteristically fake smile. “A minute, please,” he says far too politely, and tugs Queenie by the elbow to their bedroom. As soon as the lock clicks shut, Tina and Newt finally make eye contact and, in solidarity, tiptoe to the door.

“...like Newt, he’s a real good fella, but all’s you’ve been doing lately is running his and Tina’s relationship…”

“I can’t help it! They’re thinking about each other all the time, I can’t _not_ try to help them muddle their way through —”

“Yeah, well, if we get outta here for a sec then you won’t have to hear ‘em thinking about each other, right?”

“I just can’t leave them tonight, Tina’s all grummy —”

“They can figure it out on their own, doll. I ain't trying to be a wet blanket, but it seems ever since Newt got here you haven't had a minute where you're not in the middle of it.”

“I… I can’t. Teenie _needs_ me.”

“Maybe _I_ need _you,_ you ever thought about that?”

A long pause. Then, tearfully, “Oh, honey, I'm so sorry.”

“It's fine, no harm done,” he says gruffly.

Newt and Tina grimace at each other, no doubt feeling the same guilt. “She should go,” she whispers to Newt.

“I know,” he whispers back. “I don't —”

“...so it’s settled then,” Jacob says firmly, and opens the door, revealing Newt and Tina crouching with their ears to the keyhole. He sighs and tilts his head. “Really, guys?”

They both straighten up sheepishly. “You should go, Mr. Kowalski,” Newt says.

“We’ll be fine,” Tina adds. “Honest.”

Queenie looks unconvinced. “You sure?”

They both nod.

“You’ll tell me if —”

“I’ll be _fine,”_ Tina says, beginning to look rather irritated.

“It’s only that —”

Oh, this is getting ridiculous. “Queenie,” Newt says sternly. “We’re _quite_ alright.”

“Well… we better get a wiggle on,” Queenie says, her hesitance quickly turning to her default carefree ebullience. She beams and loops her arm through Jacob’s elbow.

 _Thank you,_ Jacob mouths at Tina and Newt before the door closes gently behind them.

“So,” Newt says, giving a little cough. “I — I was thinking, you must have an awful lot of work to do —”

“Newt,” Tina says very, very seriously. “I think we ought to talk.”

This is not good. This is _not_ good. This is NOT GOOD. “Oh.”

“It’s fine, I’m not angry, I just think… well, you know, your assistant certainly doesn’t mince words, and I have to admit she’s right. About the communication thing.”

Newt feels incredibly, phenomenally, _tremendously_ uncomfortable.

“Come on, I’m not gonna poison you,” she says with a small smile, and he’s reminded of his first time in this apartment. He’d been ready to leave (escape), and after Queenie called him back, Tina had looked at him with such… he wracks his brain, trying to come up with a word to describe it. He supposes it was the first time he felt welcomed by anybody, the first time a group of people didn’t want him to leave.

They sit down across at the dining room table across from each other. Newt clears his throat and stares at a chip in the wall.

“I’m sorry for how I acted,” Tina apologizes.

“Oh, it’s — it’s no worry,” he replies, still determinedly avoiding her gaze.

“And I’m sorry if I’ve been ignoring you.”

“That’s… that’s alright.” _Stop saying it’s alright when it’s not._

“No, it’s not. I mean, I assume that my little display at the bakery was enough to show you that of course I _care,_ but I don’t know why…” She falters. “Could you _please_ look at me?”

Reluctantly, he does. _She’s quite pretty,_ his mind helpfully supplies. He winces; not now.

“Why did you run off like that?” she asks softly.

“I — the creatures — they —” One look at her face is enough to see she’s not buying it. “I… it’s what Sophia yelled at me for, the — the attention thing,” he admits. “I don’t… nobody’s ever been jealous before, except perhaps Pickett, but he’s —”

“Maybe you just haven’t met the right person,” Tina points out quietly.

He stares at the floor, then looks up. “Maybe I have now.”

“Oh, Newt…”

“I’m not — I’m not used to it,” he struggles to explain. “I’ve told you this, I’ve tried to… it’s.” He stops, shakes his head. “I’m more comfortable with my beasts than I am with people. I always have been. But the thing is, Tina, since I met — well, since I met _you,_ I’ve… that’s changed, because the truth is that you… I’m comfortable around you. Most of the time, of course, you know, except when I’m rambling and stammering and making a proper mess of things,” he adds quickly, hiding beneath his fringe, “but I _am_ and that’s what — ever since we met, I’ve felt like perhaps you felt the same, comfortable with me. Except you don’t have the — the attention thing, so it’s unlikely that I would — would make a _difference_ really. I can’t…” He runs a hand through his hair agitatedly. “And it’s all just spinning round in my head, because there’s so very _much_ to — to come to terms with, or to try to understand about this — about you, and _us,_ and I don’t know. I’m not… I’m not.”

Tina looks at him, something like pity and compassion and kindness in her eyes. “I’m not as great as you paint me to be, Newt,” she says. “Before you, I wasn’t exactly a people person either. As I’m sure Queenie has mentioned in one of your _many_ conversations about me, I was an oddball growing up. I’m a loner by nature. I’ve just learned how to function in the real world, by necessity. But you’re the person I’m closest to, other than Queenie. I don’t…” She shakes her head, looking pained. “I don’t _trust_ you, exactly, not yet, but I… I do believe in you. In us.” She swallows. “Don’t act like you’re the only one who’s insecure here. Because you’re not. We both have things to contend with. And, I don’t know what exactly Sophia’s said to you, but we have to be a team. Just like we were last year.”

Newt isn’t quite sure what to say. He panics, because he’d hate for her to get the wrong idea again, but Tina reaches over and places a hand on his arm.

“Take your time,” she says. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She _understands_ him, he realizes. Perhaps not like Sophia does — as though they’re one and the same; she can practically read his thoughts, and has proven to be the only person on earth (to his knowledge) who matches his exact zeal for zoology — but in an equally valid, equally bone-deep way. Even if it’s taken time, she sees now that his mind works too fast, yet he expresses everything too slow. He has to — what was the word Sophia used the other day? — _process_ things, get his haphazard thoughts in order, before speaking. And Tina has just told him, he assumes, that she will wait.

“You don’t need to say anything now either. I know it’s a lot for both of us, really.”

“No, I — I want to say things, I just… don’t quite know where to _begin.”_

“You could begin with the truth,” she suggests.

“That _is_ a very good place to start,” he concurs. “It’s just that sometimes the truth is… it’s too much. For me to — to discuss.”

She looks at him with so much warmth that he can _feel_ it, rushing through his body and producing a sense of pure reassurance and safety. He’s struck — bowled over, really — by the realization that this woman has become a sanctuary, a place of refuge and respite, where his suitcase was once all that he had. “It’s alright,” she says, and for the first time in this relationship (for that’s what this has become) — maybe for the first time in his entire life — he wholeheartedly believes it.

* * *

Just as the two are getting ready for bed, there's a knock on the door. Newt, exchanging a concerned glance with Tina, answers it. The second the doorknob turns, Sophia flings herself into his arms, crying.

“Oh —” he says, startled.

“I told my dad,” she blubbers against his shirt. “He forbade me, he said I can't work for you anymore.”

 _“What?”_ Well, _that_ won’t do.

“He thinks you're a — a bad influence, or something, that you won't take care or look out for me, ‘cause you were careless that one time with the case. He wants me to work anywhere but here — but I _love_ this!” she wails, sniffling violently. “I _want_ to do it, and he just… he doesn't want me to.”

Newt is at a loss for words. Having his normally bubbly, obnoxious honorary little sister suddenly bawling and clutching him for dear life is something of a sensory overload. Not knowing what to do, he hugs her, notching his chin over her head (she really _is_ very short), and patting her on the back until she calms down enough to pull away.

“Come here,” Tina says then, having come up beside them as soon as she saw Sophia fly at Newt. They all sit down on the couch, Sophia in the middle. “Now. What happened?” _Bless_ Tina and her maternal instincts.

Sophia explains, more calmly this time, what exactly transpired. “Mom tried to explain to Dad, but he just yelled at her, and I know he's being protective but I also think…” She bites her lip, tears threatening to spring from her eyes. “I think — _oh_ , I think he's ashamed of me!” she all but howls. “He wanted to be _proud_ of a MACUSA employee…”

“Oh, dear,” Tina says. Newt, still rendered mute, puts his arm around Sophia, who curls up, really such a little vulnerable thing for all her fire and unnerving wisdom. He could see it play out had they been siblings years ago, doing just this when she was six and skinned her knee, or she was eight and the neighborhood kids were mean to her. Bloody hell, the poor girl.

“I'm sorry,” she finally says meekly.

“It's fine,” Tina and Newt speak simultaneously.

“No, I — I just don't… this is what I _do._ I can't _not_ be with the creatures or not go outdoors or sketch or — or take notes. I can't… I can't _not_ do what I love, when it's already within my grasp.”

Newt thinks long and hard. It bothers him, perhaps more than it should, that her father would be so unsupportive. He grew up lucky enough to have a wonderful, caring mother and a supportive, if overbearing brother. His father died when he was a toddler, but everyone always spoke of him highly as well. “I can't claim to be an authority in regards to paternal duties,” he says slowly, “but it seems to me that your father is... a bit of an arse.”

Sophia gives a watery laugh. “And _how.”_

“I think,” he says carefully, “if you don't mind, Soph… well, I think perhaps I — I ought to speak with him, er… face to face.”

Both Tina and Sophia look at him sharply. It's an offer so entirely out of character: he's the last person to voluntarily _confront_ someone, particularly a domineering man he's never met.

“If you don't want me to, of course —”

“No, _please,_ that would be so wonderful,” Sophia says, some of the vigor slowly seeping back into her mien. She’s never down for long, that girl. “Thank you, Newt. I really mean it.” She hugs him again.

“Shall I come by tomorrow, then?” Newt asks, unsure of how these things are typically arranged.

“He’ll be at work tomorrow til 5."

“Perhaps I could come by in the evening?”

“If you want,” Sophia says. “I mean, I don't really think there's an exact protocol for zoologists talking to belligerent fathers of their assistant whom they kind of just _found_ at a random luncheon. So. Do it however you think is best.”

That's a terrible answer, as it leaves Newt in no better position than before. Understanding this, Tina speaks up, “Newt and I will figure it out, alright?” The question seems to be posed to both parties. Sophia gives an appreciative smile, and Newt has to resist the urge to kiss Tina. It's the smallest things, he thinks, that strike him about her. She comes to his rescue as though doing so is effortless and automatic, when nobody else has before. And even if they're seemingly trivial actions, like jumping in with the reassurance that they'll come up with a plan _together,_ he appreciates it more than he can ever fully express.

“It’ll be alright,” he tells Sophia, and plants a kiss on her head in a gesture that surprises them all.

“Newt Scamander, you're going soft,” Tina declares, eyes twinkling.

“I dislike seeing good people in pain,” he says defensively.

“Love you,” Sophia says mischievously, grinning up at him.

He stares down at his shirt in horror, which now sports a large wet spot where she evidently used him as a handkerchief. “Did you really have to cry so _very_ much?”

“Yep,” she says cheerfully. “You're my shoulder to cry on now. It's official. So suck it up, big bro.”

Newt heaves a long-suffering sigh. “Right,” he says, “I'm going to change.” Then something occurs to him. “Will you get home alright?”

“Oh, I Apparated, it's fine,” she yawns, rubbing her eyes.

“It's quite dark outside,” he says doubtfully.

“Um, yeah. That's what happens at night?”

“I can go with her,” Tina offers, gazing at him with something warm and soft in her eyes again. “I _am_ an Auror, after all.”

“Absolutely not,” he says firmly. Though he would never have pegged himself for the overprotective type, it certainly _won't_ do to have what are arguably two of the people he's closest to in his life romping around a darkened city.

“Oh, come on,” Sophia says. “I have my wand, I have a brain, I'll be fine. I'll Apparate _right_ into our back yard, promise.”

Though he still has his misgivings, Tina is giving him the universal Yes Newt It’s Fine Now Stop Worrying look, so he hesitantly agrees. Sophia hugs them both very gratefully and leaves, slamming the door happily behind her.

“Well, that was intense,” Tina says, flopping down on the couch. “She's really — you okay?”

“Excuse me, I just need to change my shirt,” he says, and disappears into their bedroom, still not quite sure he just a) allowed a 20-year-old girl sob on him for the entirety of a conversation, and b) kissed her! On the head! Like a father! He stands in the middle of the room for a moment, closing his eyes in something like mental pain. Merlin’s beard, if Tina Goldstein isn't the death of him, Sophia Ollerton most certainly will be.

* * *

Glossary 

**grummy:** depressed

 **get a wiggle on:** get a move on, get going

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ETA: I deleted a lot of ramblings about being concerned that this isn't grabby enough.
> 
> Anyhow, a brief preview of upcoming chapters:
> 
> 1\. Some fluff after tonight's conversation  
> 2\. Another book signing and an announcement from Newt  
> 3\. A little more angst, sorry  
> 4\. Fluffy outtakes  
> 5\. AMERICAN HOGSMEADE!!!
> 
> ...and then the action really kicks off and you'll understand why I was trying to brace you all for the past several chapters.


	23. Good luck came a-knocking at my door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which George Ollerton gets a proper talking-to and Newt is a no-good eavesdropper.
> 
> “And you think this is right. Letting my 20-year-old daughter run amok with all these beasts and an absent-minded zoologist for a guide.”
> 
> Newt looks straight at him. “I think it’s right to let your daughter do what she loves, sir. No matter the risk involved. It would seem to me that she belongs with our beasts, and although I have yet to become a father, I would suspect that you would rather your daughter be happy in a place where she belongs, than miserable in the place you wanted her to be. Sir.”
> 
> Chapter title from "Blue Skies" by Irving Berlin (1926)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to say, this is one of my other favorite chapters to write. I couldn't stop smiling during the cuddly sequence, and I hope you do too.

_Week 3, Thursday_

George Ollerton is still angry and, if he’s being honest, quite concerned about this entire magizoology business. He’s been away for awhile trying to look into Grindelwald attacks, and this stuff is _scary._ As a low-level employee in the Department for Magical Security, he was primarily sent to safe locations to speak with either No-Maj (“Muggle”) allies in Great Britain or other wizarding communities. Even so, he’s seen the destruction and the darkness that seem to be descending. And although this Newt Scamander may be perfectly fine, how can he possibly trust such a man who has proven to be careless with his daughter’s safety _and_ set off an entire series of life-threatening events last year?

He regrets not spending more time with Sophia in the past few months. Then again, she’s always been independent. She was a fiery, determined little girl — and still is, in his mind.

He understands more than she thinks. He can’t personally identify with her passions and proclivity for solitude, but despite his absences he _has_ watched her grow up. It’s not as though he’s against her happiness or making friends. Frankly, he was beginning to worry that she would remain entirely friendless, and though she may not care, he knows how important those relationships can be, even for the loneliest of loners.

Emilia is working late (he often suspects that “working late” entails gossiping with coworkers and eavesdropping on the government) and Sophia has stormed off to the library, so he’s alone for dinner. Just as he’s sitting down, there’s a hesitant knock on the door. He doesn’t have a meeting scheduled, does he? If this is about Sophia getting dragged into MACUSA again… but no, Emilia would have told him. Then again, he’d had to hear about the incident and his wife’s subsequent involvement from his _daughter_.

He opens the door very cautiously to reveal an uncomfortable-looking, gangly young man wearing a tealish peacoat and a look of trepidation. “Er, hello,” the mysterious visitor says, and extends a hand. George eyes it a bit distastefully, given that this particular hand is rather calloused and dirt-stained. Being a good sport, he shakes it anyway, noticing as he does so that even the man’s handshake is tentative.

“Well, come in,” George says after a long pause.

“Yes, very well, thank you,” the man replies. He shuffles into the parlor, then stands there. “Mr. Ollerton?”

“That’s me,” George says suspiciously.

“I’m Newt Scamander.”

George’s jaw drops. _This_ is Newt Scamander? The man his daughter’s been associating with for the past god-knows-how-long? He has to admit, first of all, that this was not quite what he had in mind. He suspected that such a heroic and well-known figure would be a little less, well, shabby. Not to mention the outfit, which is… eccentric, and the man’s entire demeanor, which gives off a very strong sense of _I do not like being around people and this is incredibly uncomfortable for me._ George has to suppress a smile at that; it _is_ rather reminiscent of Sophia.

“I thought I might — I might discuss with you, the, erm… _stance_ you’ve taken in regards to Sophia’s position. With myself.”

George snaps his mouth shut. “Splendid,” he says. “Please, take a seat.”

Newt does so, perching gingerly on the edge of the ottoman. “I… I understand your qualms, Mr. Ollerton. It was unfortunate that I was careless that day, with the protective charms, and I assure you it — it won’t happen again. But Sophia is a lovely girl,” and something in his tone shifts; something reminds George of the way _he_ talks proudly about his daughter (despite her fears, he has never been _ashamed_ of her), and it’s almost reassuring to hear Newt speak this way. “She’s a talented assistant, really brilliant with the creatures, in fact, and I have never come across a more passionate zoologist.”

 _“Aspiring_ zoologist,” George corrects, clinging onto a shred of dignity.

“With all due respect, sir, I — I would consider her far beyond _aspiring._ Which is why — erm — why I’m here to talk to you. I wondered if you might consider letting her work for… for me.”

“You think she’s brilliant, do you?”

Newt nods. “She is, sir.”

“You care about her?”

“Very much so.”

“She claimed that you’re like a big brother to her. Is that true?”

“If I had had a younger sister like Sophie growing up, I… I would consider myself lucky.”

 _Sophie._ “You understand why, as a father, I cannot let her run the risks she will run in working for you.”

“I do. But I have always been safe, she knows the beasts well and they adore her, listen to her — and I promise, sir, that I would never let anything happen to her. I _will_ look out for her. I swear.”

“Why should I trust you?”

Newt pauses. “Because it — it couldn’t have escaped your notice that I’m… no more of a people person than Soph… ia.” It’s evident that he was about to call her _Soph._ George considers this as the man continues, “I don’t make the effort to — to have such a conversation with someone unless I firmly believe in them, and I firmly believe that what I’m doing is right.”

“And you think this is right. Letting my 20-year-old daughter run amok with all these beasts and an absent-minded zoologist for a guide.”

Newt looks straight at him. “I think it’s right to let your daughter do what she loves, sir. No matter the risk involved. It would seem to me that she belongs with _our_ beasts, and although I have yet to become a father, I would suspect that you would rather your daughter be happy in a place where she belongs, than miserable in the place you wanted her to be. Sir.”

It’s a compelling argument, particularly the fact that this blithering, stammering man suddenly tapped into something, some sort of confidence and righteousness, before his eyes. Perhaps the guy is less spineless than he gave him credit for.

“I’m not sure the typical… protocol, for this — this situation,” Newt says, “but I… if you require time to think, I understand. Sophia is welcome at the apartment anytime.”

That’s another issue. “The apartment.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And this apartment, that she’s been spending so much time at — whose is it, exactly?”

“It’s rented out by the Goldstein sisters, Queenie and… Tina.”

“Tina Goldstein. The Auror.”

“Yes,” he says proudly.

“And you two are engaged.”

Newt blanches, then turns bright red. “N-no — erm — no, not y — no. No, w-we aren’t.” He stares down at the rug.

“Then what brings you and Sophia to the apartment so often? There are plenty of hotels in the vicinity.”

“Because, sir…” Newt pauses. “Well, because they’re like my family. They’re… friends. I — I don’t normally have friends.”

“Ah. Like Sophia.”

“Yes. But now she does, sir, because of — because of me, and us.”

“Who else lives there?”

“Queenie Goldstein, Tina’s sister. Queenie’s fiancé spends time there as well. He cooks,” Newt adds keenly, as though this may be the selling point.

“I see.” The conversation is starting to exhaust the both of them, and George is also very hungry. He clasps his hands together and leans forward on his knees, bowing his head for a moment to collect himself. “Then I have one vital question.”

Newt nods awkwardly.

“Is Sophia well looked after?” This odd magizoologist is right: George must get his priorities straight. He hates the fact that this is the path that Sophia has chosen. It may be quite some time before he fully accepts it. But if she is safe, cared for, and happy, it will save everybody a whole lot of grief.

Newt smiles. “Without a single doubt, Mr. Ollerton.”

George stands up. “Alright,” he says. “I’ll send Sophia over once she gets home.” Then he frowns. “Do you happen to know this Nelson boy?”

Newt immediately stiffens. “He’s… he’s one of Queenie’s friends. I personally dislike his interest in Sophie, but I suppose she must begin dating at some point. I don’t know why it has to be quite so _soon,_ as I thought that 30 or 40 might be more suitable, but it has been made _abundantly_ clear that I must let it go.” He pauses. “I will _certainly_ have a stern discussion with this — this _young man_ should he attempt to come by the apartment.”

That clinches it. Grinning, George shakes Newt’s (still dirty) hand. “‘Without a single doubt’ is right,” he says. “Good day, Mr. Scamander.”

* * *

After his conversation with George Ollerton, Newt returns to the apartment, wondering if Tina’s home yet. He descends into his suitcase, hopping lightly from the bottom step to the floor, and then stops. Tina is fast asleep at his desk, slumped over with her head in the crook of her left elbow. Her right fingers have gone lax around a quill, and the ink has created a massive ink blot on the parchment next to her.

Newt smiles fondly at the image for a few seconds. Then he comes over and kneels down so he's eye level with her, rubbing her on the back gently. “Tina.”

“Mmph.”

“I'm back.”

She shifts, burying her head deeper into her arm. “Leave me alone,” she mumbles.

He can't help but smile. Merlin’s beard, she's _adorable_ like this. (She would also probably hit him if she knew he used such an adjective to describe a tough Auror like herself.) “No,” he says, and ducks just in time as she attempts to whack him in the head.

“...Sophia?”

“I talked to her father.” He sits back on his heels, still idly stroking her back. “How much sleep have you gotten?”

“Three.”

“Three _hours?_ ”

“Important case.”

“Yes, but I thought you — I sleep in the same room as you!”

“Y’sleep pretty hard.” Her words are all jumbled together. He puts a hand to her forehead, just to make sure it's only tiredness. No sign of fever.

“Well, not anymore,” he replies, pushing her hair out of her face. She bats him away. “You really _must_ take better care of yourself. It won't do to lose my investigator _and_ manager at a time like this.”

She mutters something incoherent and turns her head.

Newt sits there a minute, one hand still smoothing over her back, before deciding that he doesn't have the heart to try to fully wake her. If she’s going to take a nap, however, he’s certainly not going to leave her in such an uncomfortable position. The problem is, they're nowhere near a bed or a couch, and he's not about to drag her halfway across the suitcase.

He flashes back to the first Friday night they spent together, when they stayed up until 3 am and baked biscuits. Hmm.

There's a large wooden chair in the corner of the room, which isn't the least bit comfortable, but, well, desperate times. He deposits a pile of pencils and scrap paper on the footstool next to it, then stands akimbo before a slumbering Tina, waiting to see if his mind wants to supply any alternatives. It doesn't, so he leans down gingerly, one arm under her upper back, the other one wiggling beneath her knees, and lifts. Just like the other night, she moves to tuck her head against his chest. Right.

He manages to maneuver both of them over to the chair, where he casts a quick Cushioning charm without dropping his girlfriend (he really _is_ a very good wizard sometimes) and takes a seat. It's a large chair, but Tina is not a short woman, and her legs hang over the arm. He's more concerned about her head and neck, however — it wouldn’t do for her to wake up sore, of course — and arrange them so that she's using the crook of his elbow as a pillow, and he has enough freedom of movement to reach for a pencil and paper and start sketching.

At one point she lifts her head sleepily and taps him on the chest. “Your heart,” she murmurs. “It's loud,” she complains, but settles back down with her ear pressed against it anyway.

* * *

An hour or so later, Sophia comes bounding down the staircase. “Newt, Dad told me —” She stops short when she sees the scene before her. “Queenie!”

Queenie races over in a panic. “What, is Teenie hurt?”

“No, but you _gotta_ see this.”

Queenie joins her. “Oh my…”

Both Newt and Tina have fallen fast asleep. Tina’s spread across his lap, face pressed into his chest, and his arms are encircling her shoulders comfortably, as though they’ve done this a hundred times before.

Queenie covers her mouth with her hands and sighs blissfully. “I could just — Jacob!”

Jacob thunders down the stairs. “Wha — are you okay?”

“Look.”

And that's how Tina wakes, with her sister, Jacob, and Sophia all standing and staring. She jerks, accidentally knocking Newt’s arms off of her. “ _Really?_ ” she asks the three dryly, pushing herself to a sitting position on his lap.

“What's that sound?” Sophia whispers mirthfully.

“What sound —”

“Ooh, wedding bells,” Queenie answers, giggling.

“Queenie! Sophia!” Tina admonishes, looking nervously at Newt and praying he isn't hearing any of this.

“We’re all waiting, you know,” Queenie says.

“Yeah, maybe if you two get married he’ll stop talking about you all the time,” Sophia adds.

“He does?”

Queenie and Sophia heave twin sighs (which seems to be their signature move now), look at one another in exasperation, and say simultaneously, _“Yes.”_

“Thinks about you too,” Queenie puts in. “Sweet thoughts… mostly.” She smirks.

Even Sophia calls her out on the insinuation. “Queenie! For crying out loud!”

“I'm only saying!”

“Well, say it in your head then,” Tina says, rolling her eyes.

Queenie sniffs indignantly.

“It _would_ be nice to see you two finally, you know.” Jacob waggles his eyebrows and nods at the ring on his own fiancée’s finger.

Tina flops back onto Newt’s lap with a groan.

“Oh, right. Dinner’s ready,” Sophia announces. “That's why I came down here in the first place.”

Tina studies her… is he her boyfriend now? _Officially?_ They still haven’t fully established it...

“Of course he is, honey!” Queenie replies, appalled that Tina would ever question it.

Fine. Tina looks at her boyfriend, sound asleep, and back at her friends. “Should I wake him up?” she asks uncertainly.

Queenie beams in delight. “Oh, he's already awake.”

Sophia snorts. “He's been eavesdropping this whole time. Watch out with your magizoologist, Miss Goldstein. He's very good at playing dead.”

Oh, Tina is going to _kill_ these people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well! Sophia's back where she belong and Newtina is back on the up and up. Please do leave comments to let me know what you think!


	24. I'm the little needle that gets you where it hurts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lucille Wadcock is up to no good, Sophia is officially the most annoying little sister ever, and Newt accidentally gives Tina a bloody lip.
> 
> Chapter title from "It Ain't Gonna Rain No Mo'" by Wendell Hall (1923)
> 
> “Nuh-uh!” Sophia shoots back. “If you hadn’t used my head as an armrest, I wouldn’t have had to poke you.”
> 
> “Poke me! You practically impaled me!”
> 
> “Oh my GOD, everyone stop,” Tina says. Newt pours cold water onto the flannel, then wrings it out over Sophia’s head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I spent 3 hours making a very important family tree, and as a result I might not be able to post more than one chapter and one intermission today. It'll be worth it though, as I spent last night working on the next intermission.
> 
> I know this chapter is a bit lame, with a lot of dialogue, but I needed to introduce Lucille and felt like writing some Newt/Sophia humor (someone commented awhile back something about him using her as an armrest and her poking him in the ribs, so I took it and ran).

_Week 3, Friday_

Lucille Wadcock has something on her mind. As she sits at her desk in a chilly, abandoned warehouse, she can't help but wonder what life might be like had she not made… certain decisions. She considers herself far above such nonsense as regret, remorse, and guilt, of course. And for the most part, she’s perfectly fine with the way her life has progressed.

Still, she wonders.

There's a rap on the door as she plays idly with a fireball in the middle of her current office, which is an abandoned warehouse not far from Manhattan. “Come in,” she says. Someone enters, footsteps hesitant. They always do that, act hesitant. It used to bother her that she had this effect on people. Now she enjoys it. (Does she have a choice, really?)

“Miss Wadcock,” the man in her office says.

She swivels around in her chair slowly. Modoc Adler stands nervously before her. “Yes?”

“Mr. Ogbourne has been caught.”

She arches an eyebrow. “Really.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Her face is cold and impassive. “Is that all?”

“I — I believe so.”

“Do you expect me to be upset? Modoc,” she says in a long-suffering tone, “I have twice now evaded capture by the best Aurors in the world. I have since come to New York and walked under the nose of the very people who gave up on tracking my movements. I have had a conversation with an Auror, and I have danced with government employees. If my assistants are not so skilled, that is _their_ problem and those are their consequences to face.”

“The thing is, ma’am…” He coughs. “We were just wondering if you had a plan.”

She looks at him coolly from under eyelids rimmed with brown kohl liner and dusted in bright green eyeshadow, then sighs and gets to her feet. “Are you _complaining,_ Modoc?”

He looks panicked. She stands, waiting. When he can’t decide what to say, she steps closer and seizes him by the chin, perfectly manicured red nails digging into his skin.

“Ogbourne was a foolish man,” she says very quietly and very dangerously. “You will not be so foolish.”

“N-no, of course not. Of course not.”

She stares at him for a few seconds longer, waiting for him to falter. He does. Satisfied, she saunters back to her seat, heels of her boots tapping out a warning, and swivels around to face her desk. “Why are you still here?” she asks a minute later, back still to him, as she lights a cigarette with her wand.

“I… no reason, ma’am.”

She takes a puff, blowing sinister smoke rings into the cavernous expanse of the warehouse. Then she slowly draws the cigarette away from her mouth and examines the butt, where her lipstick has stained it scarlet, blood red against ashy white. “Did you secure passage yet?”

“That’s — er — Peter said —”

That tiresome man. She turns around and shoots him her iciest glare. “Peter’s not here now, is he?”

“N-no — would you like me to, then?”

“What do you think?” It’s one of her favorite questions to ask; they never know what to say. Volatility is one of her most reputable skills, and her wishes can change at the drop of a hat. It's how she keeps them on their toes.

“Yes…?”

She _really_ does not want to get to her feet again, so she stays put despite the fact that Modoc is getting on her last nerve. “They leave Thursday,” she informs him, in case he’s forgotten. “Get me there by sundown.” And then, because she really _has_ had enough, she stands up once again. Her dress swishes back and forth, expensive beads chattering against black satin. “We are done here,” she says shortly, pushes him to the exit, and closes the door.

* * *

It turns out that Tina can’t attend the book signing today. There’s been an incident in Boston she needs to address, and despite the fact that she’s pretty sure Madam Picquery is using her as a last resort, she’s not going to complain.

Her boyfriend, however, is.

“How am I going to _survive?”_ he asks, flabbergasted, when she tells him about the assignment.

“You’ll breathe, and be fine.”

He gapes and follows her into the kitchen. “Tina, those are terrible instructions.”

She puts her dishes in the sink and taps the faucet with her wand, then turns around and crosses her arms. “You’ll be perfectly fine, Newt.”

“I’m just very _very_ skeptical of the validity —”

“Stop worrying,” Sophia announces her presence. She comes over and wraps her arm around Newt’s waist.

“I’m not worrying.”

“Yes you are,” Sophia and Tina say simultaneously.

He glowers at the fork in his hand. “It’s only that we’ve all established that I’m ill-equipped at _best_ to handle situations such as these, and… could I pretend to have dragon pox, do you think?”

“No,” Tina says firmly at the same time as Sophia says, “Maybe.”

Newt sighs and rests his elbow on Sophia’s head.

“Get. Off,” she says, trying to free herself of him.

“But — but you’re the perfect height for an arm rest,” he protests.

“Newton Artemis Fido Scamander, if you don’t stop making fun of my height, so help me, I will _quit.”_

“Mm,” he says indolently. “I must say I rather doubt it.”

Having had enough, she jabs him smartly in the ribs. He yelps in pain, jumps away from her, and accidentally smacks Tina in the face. With a fork in his hand.

“Oh no, Tina, are you okay?” Sophia asks, cackling madly at Newt, who looks furious at her and horrified at the fact that he just injured his girlfriend.

“Yep,” Tina says, speaking through a bloody lip. “Fine.”

“Merlin’s beard,” Newt says panickedly. “Hang on, Tina, I’ll just —” He runs to grab a flannel from the cupboard.

“It’s fine,” Tina says, doing something fancy with her wand to stop the bleeding.

“Yikes,” Sophia says, pointing at it. “That’s really swollen.”

Newt rounds on her. “This is _completely_ your fault.”

“Nuh-uh!” Sophia shoots back. “If you hadn’t used my head as an armrest, which I _distinctly_ remember telling you once is my _absolute_ pet peeve, I wouldn’t have had to poke you.”

“Poke me! You practically _impaled_ me!”

“Oh my GOD, everyone stop,” Tina says. Newt pours cold water onto the flannel, wrings it out over Sophia’s head, and hands it to the victim.

Sophia screams (melodramatically, Newt thinks scornfully, for it being such a very little amount of water). “That was _so_ much meaner than what I did!” she shouts.

“Are you alright?” Newt asks his girlfriend, stoutly ignoring his assistant, who’s trying to somehow wipe the water off of her head.

Tina lays the flannel on her lip. “It’s fine. You two are out of hand, though.”

“It’s _her_ fault,” Newt mutters.

“I’m sorry, but who’s the 30-year-old here?” Tina asks. Newt scowls. She leans over and kisses him on the forehead, then grimaces. “Ouch.”

“How do you do the hair blow dryer thing Queenie does?” Sophia asks, wand out.

“Your hair isn’t even _that_ wet,” Newt says.

“Says _you!”_

“Relax,” Tina says, “come on, I’ll do it.”

Newt jumps in. “Here, let me help,” he says quickly, pointing his wand at Sophia. _“Langlock.”_

“Are you _kidding_ me?” Tina says as Sophia utters a howl of outrage before her tongue affixes itself to the roof of her mouth.

He shrugs. “She’s lucky I didn’t do a Stretching jinx, I was considering that one.”

“Are you making up for lost time as a tormenting big brother or something?”

“Something like that, yes. Theseus always got to do the honors.” He gives Tina a mild smile, kisses her delicately, then presses the cold flannel back on her swollen lip.

Sophia starts making a series of loud noises, which are ignored both by Tina and Newt, until there’s a great _splash!_ and the sink begins to overflow.

“Bloody hell,” Newt groans, whipping out his wand and pointing it at the faucet. It shuts off, but not before a substantial amount of water has spread across the floor. “That’s… well, that’s no one’s fault, really,” he admits, then brightens. “Is ‘water damage’ a viable excuse?”

“You are not skipping the book signing,” Tina repeats for about the hundredth time as she begins to siphon up the excess liquid with her wand. Newt joins her, still very disgruntled.

Sophia is trying to carry on an entire conversation while having her tongue still attached to the roof of her mouth, which sounds vaguely like the mating call of a bird Newt heard in Equatorial Guinea once. He shares this with Tina, then adds thoughtfully, “That was much more melodious, though.”

“You’re gonna have to let that poor girl talk, you know,” Tina says once they’ve gotten the last of it.

Newt jumps to his feet, offering a hand chivalrously to help her up. He loops his arm around Tina’s waist and kisses her temple. “I know. Does tomorrow sound like a suitable time? Or perhaps after we’ve arrived in England?”

“Mercy Lewis, Newt,” Tina groans, shaking her head.

“It will wear off soon anyhow,” he says confidently. “So, how much longer do we have before it’s time to go?”

“I don’t know, you tell me,” Tina says half-mischievously.

“Er…”

Her expression of mirth turns to an expression of extreme frustration. “You _still_ don’t know your schedule? Come on, Newt. If Sophie’s going to help you get through your book signing, which you clearly need, you have to _be nice._ That means you too,” she says, looking sternly at Sophia, who makes an angelic face. “I don't care about your fame, Newt, but I _really_ would rather not come home to an apartment full of contract offer withdrawals or headlines regaling the wizarding world with tales of acclaimed author Newt Scamander embarrassing himself spectacularly.”

“Have I _ever_ embarrassed myself spectacularly?” Newt asks.

“Yes,” Sophia says, the jinx finally wearing off. “All the time.”

Tina looks at the both of them hopelessly. “Just… be nice,” she says in a last ditch effort.

“We _are_ nice,” Sophia smirks, trying to hug Newt again. “We _love_ each other.”

Prying her off of him, he says in his most authoritative voice (which isn’t very authoritative, given that _he_ isn’t very authoritative), “Sophia. Listen to me. You _must_ take this seriously.”

She scoffs. “As if _you_ take it seriously.”

“I take _Tina_ seriously. And she seems to take _this_ quite seriously.”

“It's only your future,” Tina says, reaching for her jacket and putting on her hat.

“And I hope very much that you'll be a part of that,” Newt says grandly.

“Me too,” Sophia chirps. “I’ll be part of your future, don’t worry.” She pats him condescendingly on the arm.

Tina smiles at Newt despite the interruption, then herds both of them towards the door. “Come on, we only have ten minutes to get to MACUSA.”

“Ten minutes?” Newt yelps, looking alarmed, then hurriedly smooths out his features and wraps his scarf around his neck. “I knew that.”

* * *

“We could have ice cream instead,” Sophia suggests once they’re waiting in Madam Picquery’s office.

“No ice cream,” Tina says.

“We could go _shopping_ instead.”

“No shopping,” Newt says. “Unless it's for the beasts.”

“No shopping,” Tina states. _“Especially_ for the beasts.”

Sophia offers another alternative. “Or we could just skip it _entirely_ and count how many insect species we can find in any given square mile. It's a game I made up, it's a real whoopee.”

Madam Picquery comes up behind them, placing a hand on Sophia’s shoulder. “No games,” she says firmly, and tosses the Portkey on the rug in front of them. “Now please get out of my office.”

And, given that this particular Portkey is time-sensitive, glowing blue, and both the President and Tina are wearing expressions that scream _if you do not leave right now we will take you in,_ they do.

* * *

“Are you nervous?” Sophia asks Newt as he starts striding purposefully towards their destination, fixing his scarf.

He stops for a moment. “No,” he says, then continues walking.

Sophia has to trot alongside him, seeing as her legs are significantly shorter and for every one of his steps she has to take two. “Why are you walking so fast?”

“Don’t want to be late.”

“You’re totally nervous without Tina.”

He averts his eyes. “No.”

“Why do you still think you can lie to me and I’ll believe it?”

“Optimism?”

“Hey.” She grabs him by the arm and checks her watch. They have a few minutes. “Sit,” she commands, and he sits reluctantly on a park bench. “You are going to be fine,” she says. “Okay? You’ve done this already. You just have to put up with the crowds, say your speech, sign some books, and then you can talk to the interesting people while I tell all the Newties that you’re either taken or gay.”

“Wha — _gay?”_

“Yes,” she says calmly, “as in, you have sex with men.”

He almost falls off the bench. “There are so _many_ things wrong with what you just said,” he splutters. “Y — you — wh —”

“Well, I had to spice it up a bit, didn’t I? By the fifth Newtie I was getting bored explaining that you were in love with Tina. I considered telling them you have a 50-year-old girlfriend in Africa, but that seemed a bit far-fetched.”

“How — where — what —”

“When, why,”  she finishes. “So as I was saying. You’ll be fine. You’ll survive. And you always do this, get yourself all up in a lather, and then you realize you’re totally fine. In fact, you _enjoy_ yourself. So for god’s sake pull yourself together because unlike Tina, _I’m_ not going to hold your hand and kiss sense into you. You’re really weak, by the way,” she says. “I barely touched you this morning and you practically flew into the air.”

“You — I —”

“Alright, break’s over,” she says with a sigh jumping up, and heaves him to his feet as well. He’s still blinking in shock, as though thoroughly traumatized by her earlier comment. It’s probably the concept of being gay (which, she admits, is very progressive) coupled with the fact that she said the taboo s-word to a British man in the 1920s. Oh well.

“What —”

“Oh, you big sap. I’m going to count to five, and then when I get to five, you’re going to get over your nerves and the fact that I mentioned gay sex” — he stifles some sort of noise that sounds appalled and uncomfortable and angry all at once — “and we are going to go do this book signing and get ice cream afterwards. Ya follow?”

“O-okay,” he stammers.

She says, all in a rush, “12345,” and then, without another word, starts skipping towards the bookshop, Newt hot on her tail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have some outtakes I plan to post at some point, which will fill in some of the blanks left in previous chapters. The chapter that takes place the day after this one is going to be pretty heavy in terms of long conversations (our star of the show, Sophia, is going to have words with both Goldstein sisters) so this is a nice light break before I hit you all with that one :P


	25. Intermission, Part III: Lookbooks

Guess who spent like 6 hours last night continuing to research women's fashion in the 1920s and making Polyvore sets for OCs? THIS GAL. 

I wanted to introduce you to our two most prominent OCs and BAMFs. Even though we know Soph pretty well by now, I love fashion and wanted to help you all visualize her a little better. Since Newt, Queenie, and Tina are all canon, I didn’t really feel the need to reproduce ones for them, but if you’d all be interested in that, I’ll do it. I think style is an important aspect of character and it helps gives readers a bit more feel for my muses as they read about them. Tell me if the links don’t work! I can’t insert the actual pictures.

* * *

[ Lucille ](https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B5AtdMOKcovPVmRIaUF6S0pVWVE/view?usp=sharing)

Enter... Lucille! As you'll see in the lookbook thing I made for her, she's this vampy, flapper kind of villain. I did a lot of research into 1920s makeup and reds were definitely in, so I'm giving her a very cliche black-and-red, almost Cruella de Vil vibe.

A typical makeup look for a flapper would include brown smudged kohl eyeliner (she has blue eyes) and green eyeshadow. The difference with Lucille is that she wears these outfits all the time. Cutex produced fingernail polish that came in shades of pink and red; although nail polish wasn’t a  _ prominent _ fashion feature of the 1920s, Lucille’s nails are always painted red. Her lipstick varies from darker reds to bright scarlet, orange-toned reds depending on the day and mood. Her dresses are very blingy, but not in a gaudy way; as you can see in the lookbook, some of the dresses at the time were quite intricate and hers are top-of-the-line. We don’t know much about her yet but I  _ will _ drop the hint that she comes from money.

The black headband with teardrop-shaped accents is the one I visualize her wearing the most — anything with lots of sparkles and gems — but the other styles were also likely. Again, she doesn’t do anything by halves, so there’s no subtlety to her outfits. She’s a walking danger sign. As I mentioned in the last chapter, her heels tap out a warning when she walks.

When it comes to jewelry, art deco, beaded, and tassel necklaces were all typical of the time period. The teardrop-shaped necklace would have red gems, of course, and would be for a night out where she wants to add a little extra pop of color. The others are more neutral. Women in the 20’s coveted bangles and the more bangles the better! So, of course Lucille would be right on top of that fad.

Going back to shoes (wow sorry this is so long), she certainly goes for the dominatrix aesthetic with sharp heels with things like cutouts or texture, and sometimes even boots. She also enjoys gloves while out and about (except while smoking and doing makeup; you don’t wear gloves for activities requiring your hands) in shades of red that vary like her lipstick, as well as black with fur trim. I couldn’t find a pair of black leather gloves that quite suited her, but she has those as well. She probably owns some longer, sleeker gloves for special occasions; however, she wouldn’t wear those daily and frankly they were difficult to fit into the collage.

Lastly! You’ll notice that the cloche hats are the only items that aren’t red or black (other than the navy bangles). This is because she inherited a blue cloche hat from someone very important to her. She does have a few variants of it to spice up her wardrobe, but when she’s going into Important Situations she’ll wear the original dark blue hat. Overall, she’s a sultry, vampy, dangerous woman you really don’t want to mess with — but, like all villains, she has her own weaknesses and vulnerabilities. I’m excited to watch her background unfold.

* * *

[ Sophia ](https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B5AtdMOKcovPTG54bEZCQWFkMkU/view?usp=sharing)

As for Sophie's lookbook, I adhered to basic styles at the time (drop waist pleated skirts/dresses, cardigans, blouses) but took it in a bit of a funkier direction. 

First of all, I was delighted to find out that Keds were around as early as the 1920s and that tennis shoes were perfectly acceptable for daytime outings such as picnics. Being Sophie, I assume she'd want to be as "masculine" (at the time) as possible, so of course she's all about Keds and Oxfords, because those are the two most comfortable shoe styles that were common at the time. And, like me, despite being short she doesn't like heels because it makes it difficult to run and work with the creatures.

Personally, I like 1920s dresses, but Sophia’s a little less girly than me. The advantage of blouse/skirt/sweater combinations is that you can peel off layers, which is a necessity for working in various habitats. Plus, she often finds those outfits a little more comfortable. The dark green dress, however, she inherited from Emilia, and reserves for special occasions as it’s beaded and a bit more fancy. She mentions a dress she plans to wear for the wedding ceremony, which is waaaaaaay down the road (not even plotted yet, actually — when I said “slow burn” I meant it) but I’ll definitely post a photo of that then.

Middy blouses were common for women on sports teams, but Sophie likes the look and feel of them more than the feminine, flowy, tassley sort of blouses that were common at the time, so that’s basically all she owns. As for color, she likes to wear brighter colors than would be considered typical at the time, just to match her fiery personality! You can see some daring color block sort of outfits in the lower left hand corner which would definitely make her stand out in the street. I was reading in the behind the “Inside the Magic” book for  _ Beasts _ which a follower kindly sent to me, and the costume designer was saying how she designed Newt’s coat to be just slightly off — so rather than blending it with the browns and blacks of the period, she made it tealish. Sophia is like that but kicks it up a notch because hey, she’s an independent 20-year-old woman! Yeah, it might not be totally realistic, but this is also set within the wizarding world so I think I have some leeway.

I couldn't find any knickers on Polyvore, which was unfortunate because she would probably wear those when she's working with Newt, but this is just a sampling of her style anyway. She of course has absolutely no desire for makeup (wouldn’t even know what to do with it… which may show up in an outtake at one point). And her hair, as Newt mentions, is in a dark bob like Tina’s.

The photos I chose were just photos I found on Polyvore, but they seemed to suit her attitude. Although I was limited font-wise, I do feel like the font I chose is pretty accurate to her handwriting, as are all the stains and messiness on the page!

I hope you enjoyed getting to know Lucille and Sophie’s styles. Let me know if you have any further questions! If the urge strikes, I might post photos of outfits they’re wearing in certain chapters, in the case that I either feel like it or it’s something relevant to the plotline (for example, I wanted to fully illustrate the outfit Lucille might have worn in her debut scene). Enjoy!


	26. Now I can read his letters, I sure can't read his mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lucille gets a letter, and Tina gets another talking-to.
> 
> “You're trying to be all these things, Tina, but you're not looking at what you already are to him. You mean everything to him, home and love and warmth and safety and redemption. What else could you want?”
> 
> Chapter title from "Crazy Blues" by Perry Bradford (1920)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter that got out of control. I was going to have a conversation transpire between Queenie and Sophia, but that's going on the back burner for now. Next chapter will have a continuation of this angsty conversation, and probably some stuff about Lucille. The chapter after that will likely be outtakes; so far I have cuddly fluffy Newtina trash and another about Queenie and Sophia going to All Dolled Up. (Hint: it doesn't go well.)

_Week 3, Saturday_

Dear Lucille,

I heard that you’re in America now. It’s been such a long time since we saw each other last. I know you haven’t been replying but I’ve been cooped up here for weeks with the kids and I need somebody to talk to.

Paul is doing quite well, he’s just got a promotion, and Gwenny took her first steps yesterday. I’m not sure if Mum told you, but Angie’s a first year now and was sorted into Hufflepuff, just like her dad. Paul was overjoyed, because he was the only one in his family.

Luce, we still worry about you. We know you’ve been busy with work but we do wish you’d come visit. Mum was quite hurt when she found out you’d been in Scotland and hadn’t cared to drop by. Was that awful misunderstanding with the Aurors worked out? I can’t believe they would accuse you like that!

I’m writing to share the big news. I wish I could say it was good, but it isn’t. Callum has gotten himself a boyfriend. Yes, a boyfriend. Lu, you don’t even know how upset Mum and Dad were, it was awful. You and I always knew, of course. And they knew he’d been teased since we were children but they thought it was all just teasing.

The better news is that since he told us all a few months ago, Mum is coming round and I think Dad will too, it’s just a shock. His boyfriend’s name is Hugh Higgins and he’s a darling boy. You might remember him from when we were younger. He was my age, so now he’s a bit younger than Cal but not by much. We used to call him Hughie, he was a dinky little thing with ginger hair. Anyhow, his folks have been much kinder about it. I think that Cal was expecting this reaction and has decided to be happy with Hugh even though others are angry. I do fear for their safety.

Don’t worry, we are still keeping our little secret. I trust that you are too, wherever you are. Dad burned the tapestry the other day. I don’t think anyone would suspect anyway.

Please consider writing back this time, as it’s been ages,

Love,

Esmeralda

* * *

Tina is frowning at a stack of scribbled notes when Sophia comes over to her, wearing stained knickers, torn argyle stockings, and a middy blouse with the sleeves rolled up. She has dirt streaks on her face, which is tomato red from the sun, but couldn't look happier.

“Here, gimme.” Tina hands her the notes, which she skims quickly, then nods. “Alright. Few things. First, the mooncalves are going to have to be moved. Me and Newt are trying to expand the case, but for now we need to make as much room as we can. Since we’re traveling to England, he’s got his mind made up to go chasing after every beast he can find, so… but _that’s_ no surprise.”

“You can _read_ that?” Tina asks, feeling a bit disgruntled.

“I'm his assistant,” Sophia replies.

“Well, _I'm_ his girlfriend,” Tina mutters.

“Yeah, nobody's arguing with that,” Sophia says, laughing, and strolls off, leaving a decidedly perturbed Auror in her wake.

It bothers Tina more than it should that Newt’s 20-year-old right hand man (woman, although Sophia has proven to give very little consideration to gender roles) can effortlessly decipher his scribbles, even finish his thoughts, yet his own _girlfriend_ can't. She loves Sophia dearly, of course, but the more time she’s spent with them down here, the more it bothers her that he and Sophia are _so_ compatible.

Once she's collected herself and checks on the massive tank of grindylows, she sighs and figures she ought to deal with the mooncalves, which _apparently_ need to be moved. When she rounds the corner, however, she discovers Newt and Sophia deep in discussion. Sophia points to various points on the horizon, while Newt nods along, jotting things down and gesturing animatedly. As Tina watches, they seemingly come to the same breakthrough conclusion: Newt says something suddenly, which is finished by Sophia, and they look at each other in shock before Sophia jumps up and down, clapping. Newt beams and begins sketching with gusto, one pencil behind his ear, one held in his mouth, and one actually in his hand. Even from here, Tina can see his skin is slightly flushed, which always happens when he's really ecstatic.

Clenching her jaw, she turns around and stalks off.

* * *

“Hey.” Tina looks up. Sophia pokes her head in the door of the lean-to. “Can I come in?”

Tina stares at the ground. “Fine.”

Sophia crouches next to her. “So… wanna talk about it?”

“Talk about what.”

“You know,” she says keenly. “Your jealousy issues, maybe.”

“Jealousy — I don't have _jealousy_ issues,” Tina splutters, sincerely grateful that Sophia can't read minds.

“Well, it hasn't escaped _my_ notice that you've been glaring at me and Newt for the past few days. What _is_ it with you two? You both wear your hearts on your sleeves, then act all affronted when I call you out.”

“I haven't been _glaring.”_

Sophia sighs. “Come on, Tina. Level with me.”

“Fine. Maybe I have.”

“Thank you. So, wanna talk about it? I mean, what happened to acting _normal_ with him?”

“It just… it's ridiculous, I know, because you're his assistant, you're like his little sister, but do you guys have to get along so damn _well?_ He said when he first met you, that you understand him. And you do. In ways that I don't, or can't. It’s not like I think you’re going to replace me, it’s just… he’s so _fond_ of you, and you understand him so _well.”_

Sophia grimaces. “For crying out loud. This is… okay. Y’know, Queenie was right when she warned me about you two.” She frowns pensively, putting her thoughts in order, and shifts so she’s sitting cross-legged beside Tina. “Listen, Tina… Newt is in love with you. Oh, don’t look at me like that, it’s obvious. Why neither of you believe it no matter how many people have pointed it out, I don't… whatever. You can pretend all you want, but you guys are in love. It’s a new thing, and maybe it’s not _love_ love, but you’re both in it for the long haul. I don't personally know what that's like, but it seems to me that it doesn't matter how much or little you ‘understand’ him. If he loves you, _he loves you._ He doesn't want you to change.”

“You two are just so — so —”

“Similar? Yeah, that's kind of why we’re working together in the first place.”

“No, I just mean… well, fine. But it’s not just that, the similarity.” Tina presses a hand against her temple, steeling herself. “It doesn't help that you're so… intimidating.”

Sophia gapes at her. “Intimidating. _Miss_ Goldstein, you are a full foot taller than me. _You're_ the one who's the esteemed Auror, not to mention you're a choice bit of calico — if I have to listen to Newt talk about your beauty one more time, by the way, I'm going to shove him headfirst into the next swamp we come across — and, oh, maybe a _decade_ older than me. Which is even _more_ pronounced, seeing as people regularly ask why I'm not still at Ilvermorny.” She holds her hands out, baffled. “How am I remotely intimidating?”

“You're… I don't know, you're smart, and efficient.” Tina is feeling more foolish by the minute. Here's this astute, talented young girl, the assistant and sister figure her Newt always dreamt of having, and she's throwing a hissy fit like a spoiled toddler. “Your confidence is off putting.”

“Should we have a talk about _your_ confidence and intellect?” Sophia retorts. “Tina, I have the utmost respect for you as a noble government employee, but I don't know where you're pulling this bushwa from.”

“I suppose I… I don't see that. The confidence and intellect.”

“Well, that's bad. Value yourself more,” Sophia says sternly.

“It doesn't help that you're five years younger than me and giving advice. _Good_ advice, too.”

“Would you rather I give shitty advice?”

“No, it's just that between you and Queenie, I feel like I have two little sisters who are somehow much older and wiser than me.”

Sophia sighs and pushes up her sleeves further, as though bracing herself. “Listen, Tina. Cut Newt some slack. I understand him, we've established that. And he's a lot more awkward and prone to catastrophizing than you’d think. He worships the ground you walk on. Whenever he thinks he's done something wrong in your eyes, he either talks to me about it nonstop or starts making stupid mistakes and I end up doing double the work. Let me tell you, neither of ‘em are fun. So it’d do us all a lot of good if you’d go easy on the poor fella.”

Tina raises an eyebrow. “Worships the ground I walk on? That's a bit much, don't you think?”

“It's the truth,” Sophia says simply. “I love Newt. He did a lot for me even before I met him. He's a great mentor, and a good friend, especially since I never had a big brother. I mean, he’s annoying and we argue plenty, but we’re still close. I don't like seeing him so cut up about you all the time."

“I don't understand. He's the one who acts disinterested —”

“Disinterested? Ha!” Sophia laughs incredulously. “You don’t even — he is the pure _definition_ of interested.” Then she sighs. “Look. You gotta understand the way his brain works. It doesn't make sense to most people. I know that, he knows that, you know that. Newt… he just gets so caught up in his own thoughts and ideas sometimes that it seems as though he's forgotten about you. But the thing is, he never has and he never will. Half the time when we’re just taking a break between feedings, and he's zoned out, it's ‘cause he's thinking about you. And then he’ll talk to me about it.” She rolls her eyes goodnaturedly. “He's tried to tell me the story of how you guys met about fifty times. I think I have it memorized at this point.

“People like Newt can be difficult to love, because they're so damn frustrating. See, to you, your life has a lot of different factors, a lot of moving parts. You care about your job, the wizarding world, your sister, even trivial things like the weather and new dress patterns and current events. Even if you aren't actively thinking about all those things, they’re in there, right?

“Newt doesn't have that. I mean, he cares about the greater good and his family and friends. But for him, the world is just split into two parts: his creatures, and _you._ If he's not worrying about something related to his beasts, chances are, he's worrying about something related to you. Something you said, a way you looked at him, any little thing he can pick apart and mistakenly overanalyze, he will.

“He studies people like he studies his creatures, and he only wastes time on people who are worth his while — of which there are very, very few. He's done practically an entire study on you, Miss Goldstein. You may not understand him inherently or be able to finish his sentences, but you know him in a way that _makes_ him in love with you. You know what makes him upset, how much sleep he needs, what his favorite and least favorite foods are, his entire wardrobe, his different tones of voice, and how to make him calm down when he’s spiraling. _You know how to be his best friend._ He told me precisely that, that you're his best friend. I didn't know if you knew. The rest of the world does, but apparently what the rest of the world knows doesn't register with you people, or we wouldn't be having these damn conversations all the time.

“My point is, you know him a whole lot better than you think you do. I know Newt and I share a special bond. Both of us are accustomed to being alone; not all of us have a Queenie. But you and him share an equally special bond.”

“But he talks to you. He doesn't talk like that to me.”

“Uh, well, most of the heart-to-hearts we have are him talking about you. The man’s positively goofy. You gotta get him under control.” She grins, then sobers. “The things we talk about… it's just different. It's hard to explain. It isn't that he doesn't trust you. It's just that he physically can't sometimes. I kinda forced myself on him, made him get himself together, by giving him a reality check that nobody else was going to. But that’s just because I’m persistent, annoying, nosy, and stubborn.”

“I suppose when I think about you understanding him, and him talking to you about things he doesn’t talk to me about… it makes me wonder if I’m… enough for him. If I understand him enough. Because I know you’re like his sister, but what if there’s someone else out there like me, except she understands him the way you do? He’s going to pick her.”

“Are you listening to anything I’m saying?” Sophia groans and throws her hands in the air, her voice getting high-pitched with frustration. “You're trying to be all these things, Tina, but you're not looking at what you already are to him. You mean _everything_ to him, home and love and warmth and safety and redemption. What else could you want?”

“I —” stammers Tina.

Sophia looks at her almost pleadingly. “He _wants_ you. I'm his assistant, but you're his real partner. And I can’t say it enough: you two need to _talk_ about this. You realize that every time you get mad because you’re jealous and insecure, he’s gonna assume he did something wrong. Then he’ll panic, come to _me_ or else I’ll have to hunt him down, and it’ll be back to square one. Frankly, I’m pretty close to dragging you out of this goddam lean-to and over to have a talk with him right now. I won’t, because you guys gotta _choose_ to communicate, but Mercy Lewis, Tina!”

“You’re right,” Tina concedes.

“I told Newt, I usually am.”

“I’m glad you have Newt, and that he has you. I hate the fact that he got so accustomed to being alone.”

“Me too,” Sophia concurs. “But then you came along. I really like you, Tina. You're important to Newt, and I think you've given him something to fight for. You've also given him a sort of home base, which take it from me is not always easy to find. When he's lost or confused or stressed, he comes to _you_. He told me about that first book signing. He _needs_ you as much as you need him. Yeah, I’ll force him to talk to me, and he’s finally starting to discuss stuff unprompted, but I guarantee: put him in a room with everyone he knows plus a thousand other people, and he’ll _still_ pick you out in the crowd. In a _heartbeat._ I mean, the first thing he does when he wakes up is check to make sure you’re with him.

“All of that? That's hard for a person like Newt. To put himself out there like that, to let himself _need_ someone. Nobody really likes feeling reliant on someone, even if it’s nice sometimes and even if they rely on you back. But it’s that much harder for Newt because, well, that’s how he is. Even if he doesn’t communicate fully, he’s constantly going beyond his comfort zone for you, because _you_ are worth it to him. You are _part_ of him now, and I know you haven’t been together long, but you’ve been with each other 24/7 for three weeks now, so I’d say you guys know each other relatively well.

“I told Newt then and I’ll tell you now. If you want this to work, you really need to start figuring things out between the two of you. I mean, were you _planning_ to talk to him about any of this?”

“...no.”

“Exactly. I shouldn’t _have_ to be involved. I can’t help being involved, because you’re both idiots, but you should at least start considering the possibility of telling him when you’re upset.”

“His creatures are so important to him, though. I don’t want to intrude.”

“How many excuses are you going to come up with? Jeepers, Tina, if you _both_ don’t start valuing yourselves more, I don’t know what’s going to happen. _You_ are his girlfriend. He loves _you._ If you’re upset, he wants to know. He wants to help you. Remember how upset he was when you had your last depressive episode? I mean, I wasn’t there, but I believe Queenie, and knowing him, he must have been a total wreck.

“I’ve spent a lot of time with him. I’ve _seen_ how he is with you. He smiles and laughs with me, but not the way he does with you. You two bicker like a married couple, you stay up too late like young adults*, and you’re just… _happy_ with each other, more than you are with anyone else. You don’t see it, but everyone else does.

“If you think you love him, then you have to say something. You have to start. I know you can’t trust. I know it’s not easy. I know you’ve been hurt and battered and bruised. But you have to, at some point, Tina, you just _have_ to.”

“Queenie said the same thing.”

“Good, ‘cause we’re both right.” Sophia waits for Tina to say something and rolls her eyes when she doesn’t. “Okay. He told me about your talk after you had that jealous fit with Dorothy. You _do_ understand him, because you _get_ that he can’t move as quickly or speak as articulately as other people. And it also took _a_ lot out of him to even tell you as much as he did.

“He acts so... different when he’s around you. I don’t even know what he was like growing up — I’m _so_ looking forward to meeting Theseus, honestly — but I _guarantee_ that for him to act this way means he’s in love. That’s the only possible explanation.”

“I…”

Sophia stands up and claps her on the back. “Think about it, wouldja? And then _please_ get out of here, because we really could use your help and I think Newt’s starting to worry that you’re mad at him. Which unless you talk to him straightforwardly, is going to end up on _my_ shoulders, and all _I_ want is to work with these goddamn creatures. And Jacob’s cooking.”

Tina smiles. “Yeah, his cooking is pretty good.”

Sophia crosses her arms and scrutinizes the Auror, then says, “Alright, I changed my mind. I’m not leaving until I see you leave, and go over there, and talk to that idiot man.”

Tina quails under Sophia’s steely gaze. “Fine,” she concedes, and gets to her feet.

* * *

Glossary

**Choice bit of calico:** an attractive woman (used by students)

 ***** the term "teenagers" wasn't used colloquially until the 1930s

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to develop Newt's character a little more here, and kind of explain the way his brain works, and Sophia certainly knows what she's talking about!
> 
> Upcoming:  
> -outtakes  
> -some more Lucille action  
> -American Hogsmeade  
> -the first BIG event in this fic (aka, so much angst it hurts and is going to spread out over 3-4 chapters) (that's why I've been fluffy lately)


	27. I have always placed you far above me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tina and Newt finally, FINALLY communicate; and Lucille keeps arranging things.
> 
> "There’s nothing specific that I see of value in you, other than… you. You’re eccentric, and so sincere and genuine where nobody else has really been. You’re surprisingly witty, you’re frustrating, you’re interesting, and you’re just… sweet. I want to experience that, I want to experience you. I felt from the moment you left New York that I — I just wanted to know you better. I want to see it… all.”
> 
> Chapter title from "I Can't Believe That You're In Love With Me" by Clarence Gaskill and Jimmy McHugh (1926)

Newt saw Tina storm off after he and Sophia figured out how to rearrange the habitats so as to make at least _sufficient_ room until they can work out the magic. She did too, of course, then took one look at his face (probably devastated, hurt, and panicked) and rolled her eyes. “Oh my _god,_ do I really need to keep doing this?”

He waits anxiously now, doing absolutely nothing, while she talks to Tina. Could she possibly be jealous of him and Sophia’s relationship? No, that’s preposterous. There’s nothing to be jealous of. Then what is it? It definitely has to do with Sophia.

A terrible thought occurs to him. What if she’s having one of those episodes — bouts of depression, or panic, if Sophia is to be believed — and he’s standing around here like a total idiot? What if she’s Disapparated already? But no, Sophia would’ve told him if that happened. Unless, of course, Tina told her not to tell him, which is exactly the sort of backwards thing his girlfriend would do. If only she would stop being so _valiant_ all the time and just come to him.

It’s because of this that he often worries that she’ll never need him as much as he needs her. If she can’t or doesn’t want to let him in when she’s in pain, she clearly doesn’t need him. When you need someone, you let them help you, just like he let her help him at that first book signing. Therefore, if she isn’t letting him help her, she doesn’t need him. The logic is sound… right?

A few more minutes pass and, unable to take it any longer, he decides to go find out what’s going on. She isn’t any of the places he thought she would be; panic mounting, he runs around the corner and almost straight into her and Sophia.

“Oh,” she says in surprise, stumbling backwards.

Sophia gives both of them an impish grin. “See ya,” she says, and scampers off.

“Are you alright?” he asks Tina urgently.

“Yeah.” She won’t look at him, instead staring over his shoulder and pushing her hair behind her ear anxiously.

“No — no, I don’t think… Tina, please look at me?”

“No, I…”

He grabs her hands, forcing her to meet his eyes. “Please. Talk to me.”

“It’s stupid,” she says hollowly.

He shakes his head vehemently. “Nothing is stupid when it comes to us.”

She gives a watery — when did she start crying? — laugh and looks at him hopelessly. “You can be very romantic sometimes, did you know that?”

“Erm… no.”

“Yeah, thought not.” She raises a hand and pushes his bangs off his face. Then she sighs and takes a step back. “I’m just… upset.”

“Can you tell me why?”

“I…” She bites her lip.

Fine, he’ll come out and say it. If this all goes awry he can blame it on Sophia. “Tina, when you — if you — can’t let me help you, it… well, it rather _hurts_ me, because I…” He keeps looking diagonally at the ground, then back up at her, then back to the ground. “Because I… I do want — I need you, it’s… you help me. Down here, I — I’ve always been alright down here. But up there?” He shakes his head. “You saw me, I’m awkward and annoying with people, and you chose to stay with me anyway. Soph said I need to have a functioning relationship with the world and… you help me do that.” He takes a deep breath; this really is draining, the communication thing. “But I can’t if you don’t f-feel the same. I can’t do it — this — if you don’t at least talk to me. I’m not asking you to _need_ me, because I’m still not entirely certain what you see _in_ me, but it’s true that we… we need to talk. Please.”

Tina is definitely starting to cry. Merlin’s beard, why does he always make this poor woman cry?

“I’m sorry,” he says, feeling terrible, and pulls her into his arms, one hand cradling the back of her head, because he has no idea what else to do.

“It’s alright,” she says, muffled, into his shoulder.

He can’t help but smile. “Tina, no matter how many times you say you’re okay while _openly_ crying, I’m never going to believe you.”

She laughs. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he says, pulling away to brush the tears off her face, “spot of jealousy, smidge of insecurity… Sophia could give you the entire rundown, I’m sure.”

She gazes at him with beautiful brown eyes. He realizes quite suddenly that he really dislikes their current sleeping arrangement, because although they wake up in the same room, he would much rather wake up in the same bed, to those exact eyes, for as many days into the future as possible.

“I mean it, though,” he says quietly, looping his arms around her waist in a way that feels… comfortable? Familiar? Who would’ve thought physical affection would ever be comfortable for him? “I do need you to talk to me. Because Tina, if you don’t… _need_ me, I — I don’t know how to — I can’t —” He’s rendered speechless now, trying to imagine them splitting up, going their separate ways. But it’s true: for his own sanity, he can’t keep trying to be with someone who doesn’t _really_ want to be with him — enough, at least, to want his help.

“No, no no no,” Tina says in alarm, picking up on his thoughts. She caresses the side of his face, looking incredibly concerned. “No, darling.”

 _Darling._ It’s so unexpected, and came out of her mouth so effortlessly, he isn’t quite sure what to do with himself.

“Oh, sorry!” she says immediately, hands flying to her mouth. “That was…” She furrows her brow. “That was unintentional.”

“No,” he says, removing her hands from her mouth and taking them in his own. “I’m very much alright with that.”

“Oh, good,” she says, and laughs again. “Well, I… I wasn’t expecting that. But, um. I do… need you.”

His heart stops. _“Really?”_

“I… yes. It’s… not easy to do, for me, to feel that way about someone.”

“I don’t understand what you could possibly see of _value_ in me,” he says. “I… you were fine before I met you.”

“I wasn’t, though,” she says softly. “People always told me to lighten up. I was damaged goods after Alec, and I cared far too much about my career. I didn’t laugh or smile very much at all, I… Queenie can tell you. I was different before you came and messed up my life.” She says this with a twinkle in her eye, the same undertone she adopts whenever they bicker, and he loves it. He needs it. “But there’s nothing specific that I see of value in you, other than… you. You’re — you’re eccentric, and so sincere and genuine where nobody else has really been. You’re surprisingly witty, you’re frustrating, you’re interesting, and you’re just… sweet. I want to experience that, I want to experience _you._ I’ve never really felt that way about someone before. It’s like… well, I know we haven’t spent that much time together. But I felt from the moment you left New York that I — I just wanted to know you better. And I do, I still do. I want to see it… all.”

Newt isn’t quite sure what to say or how to feel, and he’s somewhat convinced he’s in a dream. Before he can open his mouth, however, Tina takes a deep breath and says,

“I _was_ upset. I felt like I… I’m inadequate because I don’t understand you as well as Sophia does. I thought there was someone, or would be, who would replace me. It’s silly, I know, but that’s why I left. That’s why I got angry.”

He gapes at her. “Tina, I work with magical creatures all day. You’re the one who works with _dashing_ dark wizard catchers and a building full of intelligent men.”

She smiles and tilts her head. “Eh, buildings are overrated. I prefer suitcases.”

Newt’s heart does something funny, as it tends to do around Tina, both during conversations like these and at the most random moments, such as when she looks up from her coffee just so, or meets his gaze across the room, or rolls her eyes at him. He’s no expert on love and relationships (clearly) but he has a sneaking suspicion that this is the sign of something built to last: that it’s as important to appreciate the smallest things (glances, words, hugs) as it is to appreciate the romantic gestures or emotional heart-to-hearts. And he certainly does. But enough of that — Tina’s looking at him and he realizes he’s ignoring her without even meaning to.

“It’s okay,” she says with a little sniffle, “you don’t have to say anything. You said a lot already.”

“I… it may take me a long time to say everything I want to say,” he admits. “But for now, please know that you are… _incalculably_ indispensable in my life. I’m not sure what Sophia might have said to you — must have been effective, though — but you _do_ understand me. There’s… it’s hard to explain. I _can’t_ explain it, I don’t think. Not yet. I’m sorry, I just — please know that it has nothing to do with — with adequacy or anything of the sort. I will _always_ pick you, Tina. Over anybody else, no matter if they can finish my sentences or grew up alone or — or their mum bred hippogriffs. I _chose_ you. I always will.”

There’s a long pause in which he worries (as usual) that he said the wrong thing, that it was too much or not enough. Then she shakes her head wryly. “Now, that’s just not fair,” she says. “You keep beating me.”

“At what?”

“At words. The things you say.”

He blinks. “I’m sorry, h-have you heard how much I’ve stuttered throughout this entire conversation? Because I don’t —”

“No, it’s not that.” Tina shakes her head. “I’m just… lucky to have you.”

“And I you.”

They stand there, just looking at each other and breathing, before Tina leans in and kisses him. And in this moment, there is absolutely no place Newt could ever want to be more than where he is right now.

“Okay, good, so that’s sorted,” Sophia says happily, springing up from behind a stack of barrels.

* * *

Lucille paces back and forth, the letter from Esmeralda glaring at her accusatorily on the desk. She’s accustomed to deceiving people. Her emotions have long been shut off, closed down with peeling wallpaper and an evacuation notice fading on the door. And yet hearing about her niece, and about Callum… but now is not the time to begin to _feel_ things, she sneers. She has a plan to set in motion.

After a long staring contest with the letter, she reaches over and crumples it up savagely, tearing it to shreds with unnecessary force. Then, feeling strangely weak, she waves her wand. The parchment catches on fire and turns into a pile of grainy ash, which she stomps on with one pointy heel until it has been completely destroyed. Annihilated. As if it was never there to begin with.

Now, for her unfinished business.

“Modoc!” she calls.

“Yes, Miss Wadcock.”

She raises a haughty eyebrow. “Has Phillip returned?”

“I believe so, ma’am.”

“Bring him to me,” Lucille says.

“Right away, ma’am.”

Phillip enters a few moments later. “Ah,” Lucille says, and Summons a creaky old wooden chair over to her desk. “Sit.”

The burly man sits, looking ridiculous in such a small chair. “Is this about Tuesday?” he grunts.

“Yes,” she says. She leans forward to rest her elbows on her knees. “Fenwick.”

“Is the name?”

“Yes: Fenwick.” She waves her wand and a photograph appears. “Him.” A nail jabs into the picture hard enough to make an indent on the page; the members of the photo all scatter.

“Yes ma’am. And then I wait?”

She nods. “And then you wait.”

“And you think if I do this, he’ll let me see him?”

She strokes her chin thoughtfully with fire engine red nails. “It could perhaps be negotiated.”

“Could I see her?”

She looks at him sharply. “You know what you would need to do to see her, Phillip. I doubt you would like to go there right now, would you?”

“Not — not now, no, ma’am,” he says. She looks closer and notices that his eyes are bloodshot and red-rimmed, his skin is sallow, and there is a frenetic look in his eyes. It’s intermittent, but there. Perfect.

“Go fetch Frida,” she commands. “And Phillip?”

“Yes?”

“Do not let us down.”

“Yes, Miss Wadcock,” he says, and trudges out of the room.

Frida Elmsworth enters a moment later. One of the few females on the team, her appearance is everything opposite of Lucille’s. Where Lucille is red, Frida is white. Where Lucille is shimmery, Frida is plain. Where Lucille is slender and lithe, Frida is brawny and vengefully purposeful. Where Lucille is a neon warning sign, Frida is the rickety wooden sign warning victims of a cliff only as they tumble down it. They work well together this way.

“Lucille,” Frida says, the only one on first-name basis. Today she’s clad in grey knickers, varsity-striped socks, pointy Oxfords, and a short-sleeve middy blouse despite the chill of the gloomy warehouse. Her wispy white-blond hair, daringly long, is pulled into a messy plait. She hardly looks like part of the decade, and Lucille loves it.

“Frida.” This time, Lucille stands to be eye level with the woman. “Wednesday, yes?”

“Indeed.”

“You know the plan?”

She looks at Lucille coolly, her mouth perpetually pressed together in a tight line. “I do.”

“Make it quick this time. Don’t play games. Do what needs to be done and leave.”

“I know.”

Lucille picks up the picture again, a crescent-shaped dent still interrupting the scene. “Him,” she says, pointing to the powerful-looking man front and center. “Woodcroft.”

Frida glances at it, then nods. Good girl: one of her greatest skills is her photographic memory. Unlike the other boring, ordinary people who work for Lucille, Frida can relay every scene with complete accuracy.

“Very well. Thank you, Frida.”

“And Thursday?”

“Modoc has arranged it. Thursday I leave.”

“What am I to do?”

Lucille hesitates. She never _keeps_ them. However, Frida is talented at what she does and one could always use a good ally. “I will let you know,” she says shortly.

Frida gives a curt nod and leaves.

As Lucille sits down again, a scruffy dark brown owl wiggles its way through the broken window and drops another letter on her desk. Sighing, she checks the signature. It’s Callum.

Without another thought or word, Lucille destroys the message as violently as she had her sister’s. When the final ember has been doused and the remnants have been Vanished, she stands and leans forward on her desk, hands splayed out right in front of the sharp edge, and bows her head. She’s breathing heavily, though she has no reason to be.

“Enough,” she whispers to herself. “Enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, hope you enjoyed! I think I might post outtakes tomorrow as a sort of buffer, but we are only a few chapters away from one of the very first angsty and dramatic scenes I wrote for this fic (there are some scenes I wrote before I posted this, that aren't even close to happening yet!).


	28. Outtakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Events following the book signing and dinner on Saturday.
> 
> 1\. Queenie takes Sophia to a cosmetics store  
> 2\. Pure, gratuitous, fluffy Newtina cuddles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't stop laughing while writing and rereading the lipstick scene, but I'm always biased. Hopefully you all find it as amusing as I do.

_Previously_

_Week 2, Saturday_

Queenie and Sophia hang back as they exit The Wrinkled Whelk, agreeing mutely that Tina and Newt could use some quality time. Between their proclivity for finding trouble wherever they go and their seeming inability to communicate, a date night is much needed. The two appear not to even notice that they're alone, so that’s a very promising sign.

Queenie suggests that they stop in some of the shops, starting with All Dolled Up, which is a cosmetics store "with a twist" — the twist being that everything is magical, from enchanted lipstick to charmed powder to mascara potions. Sophia is incredibly dubious, but Queenie absolutely positively insists that they _must_ go in, and so the zoologist reluctantly walks into the shop. Several things hit her at once.

First, her olfactory glands are rudely assaulted with a heavy pink smog that's being sprayed at everyone who enters. Second, if Newt thought his book signings were bad, here's an entire lair of giggling teenage girls. And third, the eyeshadow section looks like a rainbow exploded, leaving a blinding, pulsating trail of color in its wake.

"Isn't this the berries?" Queenie says beside her, beaming. Sophia (who is horrified) can't think of a _less_ accurate statement. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”

Sophia feels like a fish out of water — or a fish whose water just got polluted by toxic chemicals, bright red, and the scent of femininity (which smells like cherry, strawberry, and a bouquet of gardenias all had a baby, then doused it in lilac-infused baby powder). She obliges, though, and trails Queenie around the store, resulting in a conversation that transpires roughly as follows:

“What’s this?”

“Lipstick.”

“What’s this?”

“Powder.”

“What’s this?”

“Mascara.”

“Do you put that on your cheeks?”

“No… honey, no.”

“What’s the powder for?”

“To make your skin look nice.”

“With _powder?”_

“Yes. You just take a little bit, see —”

“Nope.”

“Oh look, they have that eyeshadow I —”

“You can see this from space. I’m sure of it.”

“It’s just a bit bright, it’s a lovely color! We should try some on —”

“No. Can we go back to the lipstick?”

“Yes, alright.”

“D’you think any of these are actually poisoned?”

“That’s a horrible thought!”

“I’m just _wondering.”_

“I think this red would suit you perfectly!”

“They all look the same.”

“Honey…”

“They are literally. All. Red.”

“Soph —”

“You can use them like paint, look —”

“Don’t do that, don’t put that on your arm like that, it won’t come off —”

“Oops. Give me that wipe.”

“I told you, it’s not coming off, we’ll have to open the remover serum —”

“All this hassle for makeup?”

“Well, you don’t usually try to put it where it doesn’t _belong.”_

“Is my arm supposed to do that?”

“No. Why is it —”

“What have you done?!”

“It’s not my — I put it on the —”

“Excuse me, Miss Store Person?”

“Yes?”

“Is my arm supposed to be getting this sort of rash?”

“Oh dear, sweetheart, let me see that — you can’t use lipstick remover serum on skin, it can give you a severe allergic reaction —”

“QUEENIE!”

“I was only trying to help!”

“Don't get angry with your sister, it’s quite alright. I’ll just pop in the back and —”

“She’s _not_ my sister. She’s my… well, it’s kind of complicated. I guess she could be best described as my pretend brother’s potential future sister-in-law, but at the rate _that_ relationship is progressing —”

“Sophie, stop. We’re just friends, ma'am. Please hurry —”

“I’ll be back in a jiffy, sweetheart.”

“Queenie! How could you!”

“I didn’t know! Lipstick doesn’t go on your arm —”

“I _know_ that, I just wanted to prove a point —”

“Oh, you’re worse than Tina, proving points —”

“Okay, you _so_ can’t draw that comparison. I ended up with a swollen arm, she ended up letting a bunch of magical beasts loose —”

“That was _Newt,_ and you know that —”

“Ladies, I’m back.”

“Yeah, but your sister still got herself fired trying to —”

“She was defending Credence!”

“I’m just _saying_ there is a LARGE difference between me and Tina which you are not acknowledging —”

“Ladies?”

_“Queenie!”_

_“Sophie!”_

“Are you _sure_ you two aren’t sisters? The bickering… anyhow, if you’ll just lay your arm out, just like that.”

“Oh, my arm’s back to normal. Swell. Thanks.”

“I would try putting the lipstick on the lips next time, dear.”

“Thank you _ever_ so much. Sophia, come _on.”_

“I _know_ where lipstick _goes,_ why is everyone treating me like I’m stupid?”

“Because you put enchanted lipstick on your arm.”

“I — oh, for the love of —”

“Can I put it on your lips, though? I think you’d look darling —”

“Come near me and I will hit you —”

“Sophia. Please. You’re such a pretty girl, you’d look incredible with just a touch of rouge… here, we’ll try that, okay?”

“Fine. What was that lipstick enchanted with anyway?”

“Love potion. Here’s the rouge, let’s find your shade —”

“Love potion? I have love potion smeared all across my arm now?”

“Don’t worry, it’ll fade. What shade are you?”

“Um… reddish white?”

“No, I mean for the rouge.”

“They. Are. All. The. Same. Color.”

“We’ll go with this one. Look, just a dab here — here — stop squirming — oh, gorgeous! Look in the mirror!”

“I could achieve the _exact_ same look free of charge by standing in the sun for an hour.”

“Is this what you’re like when you and Newt work together?”

“I couldn’t say, makeup doesn’t usually come up as a topic of conversation. Now _please_ get this off of me.”

“Fine. Shall we go back to the lipstick?”

“ENOUGH ABOUT THE LIPSTICK. And what _is_ that?”

“It’s a new perfume! It’s by —”

“Perfumes have _authors?”_

“No, they have —”

“That smells horrible, I can’t stop — _achoo!_ — sneezing — _achoo!_ — make it stop, Queenie!”

“Calm down, it’s alright, let’s go back to the lipstick.”

“What _is_ this place? Honestly, if I told Newt about it, maybe we could put it in his suitcase to study…”

"Look at this matte red lip, it’s absolutely _gorgeous,_ I can overdraw your lips just like in the picture there —”

“Why can’t you normal-draw my lips? Why do you have to draw my lips at all?”

“Oh, enough of your piffle. Come here.”

“No!”

“Please —”

“NO!”

“You’re such a wet blanket, you know that? I’ll tell ya what: one night we’ll go out to The Blind Pig and I can do your makeup —”

“I would rather die by erumpent horn explosion.”

“You… never mind. So, what did you think of Nelson?”

“Fine. Good. He’s a… very.”

“He’s a very.”

“I’m not good with men!”

“Well, you’re practically attached at the hip to a man.”

“Newt? He’s like my brother. He doesn’t even qualify as a man.”

“Don’t let Tina hear you say that.”

“I’m sure she’ll know soon enough that he qualifies as a man —”

“Sophia!!!”

“I’m just _saying,_ they’ve been —”

“Wait, that’s them now outside, we’d better go join them before they go home without us.”

“Great, maybe Newt will buy me the love potion lipstick and remover serum. Tina can use the lipstick on him, and if I get annoyed I’ll just swipe a bit on his arm and then tell him to wash it off with the serum.”

“No… no, don’t do that.”

“I’ll go ask if he has any money.”

“Mary, Candy, and Tituba, you are _too much_ sometimes.”

“Nope, I’m juuuust enough. Hey, there they are.”

“Don’t be annoy —”

“You guys are disgusting!”

* * *

_Week 2, Saturday evening (after Puddingstone)_

As anyone can attest, it’s very inappropriate for an unmarried (or at least unengaged) couple to be in the same bed together. Even if they aren’t sleeping. However, there are no rules about suitcases, or burlap sheets, or star-gazing.

“That’s the one for your mom, isn’t it?” Tina says quietly, pointing. She still can’t get over the fact that Newt enchanted an actual _constellation_ for someone.

“Mm. All those other ones are real, though.”

“D’you know all their names?”

“‘Course I do.”

She smiles. “Yeah, of course you do.”

It’s quiet again, a warm breeze drifting over them as they lay side-by-side in the middle of the meadow. She wonders if there’s a reason Newt isn’t putting his arm around her, because given their current situation it seems like the incredibly obvious thing to do. Then again, he has even less experience than she does, so her expectations when it comes to “incredibly obvious” should be fairly low. She leans into him slightly, testing the waters.

“Could you move, please,” he says, and she stiffens, pulling away. Well _that_ was not —

He readjusts his position, then wraps his arm securely around her shoulder, gently stroking her upper arm where his hand lands.

“Sorry. You were lying on my elbow. I didn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

This man. This brilliant, foolish, eccentric man. Unbelievable. And who would’ve known Newt would be one for cuddling? He seems to be getting increasingly comfortable, or at least has bursts of not acting like a skittish horse around her, and he’s so… she can’t even come up with a word for him sometimes. She moves slightly onto her side, nestling her head over his heart and placing her hand on his chest.

“Thank you, again,” he says softly.

She just hums and closes her eyes, listening to his heart beat. It’s been years since she’s done this with a guy, this kind of innocent and tender yet strangely intimate cuddling. It’s been since Alec. _Alec._

Newt apparently has a stroke of Legilimency, or maybe he just knows her well. “Are you thinking about him?” he asks in a low voice.

“Yeah.” She holds onto him a little tighter.

“He didn’t deserve you.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“Stop it, it’s not fine.”

“I can’t do anything about it now.”

“I wish I could.”

“Thank you,” she murmurs, smoothing a hand over his shirt.

Then, in the first kiss like this that Newt has ever initiated, he tilts her chin up towards him with his free hand. As he brushes the side of her face with his thumb, the way he looks at her sends shivers down her spine. It’s not creepy, or cheesy, or concerned. It’s just… _Newt._ Who seems to hesitate now as fear creeps into his gaze. Really? They’re literally centimeters away, and he chooses _now_ to panic? This stupid man. She reaches up and grasps his wrist as ever so tentatively, he whispers, “Tina, can I kiss you?”

“Are you an _idiot?”_ she says, and closes the gap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'll be back to the action in the next chapter! I'll have to post an intermission soon discussing American Hogsmeade too, so I'm working on that :)


	29. Through all kinds of weather, what if the sky should fall?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Newt still doesn't know his schedule, Queenie gets some good news, and Lucille is full of angst.
> 
> “John Edgecombe.” Lucille freezes, the breath knocked out of her. Frida is looking at her impenetrably. “That’s what I thought.”
> 
> “How do you —” she asks shakily. She hasn’t heard the name in years, since her last conversation with…
> 
> “I know things. I know what you’re planning, and why you’re planning it. And I can help.”
> 
> Chapter title from "Side By Side" by Harry Woods (1927)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy some more Newt/Sophia fluff (Newphia? That works) and a very VERY done Seraphina. Oh, and she has a twin brother. Man, this fic is a real rollercoaster. I've sketched out almost all of Lucille's background, motives, etc. so I'm excited for that to develop as well.

_Week 4, Monday_

Seraphina Picquery is not an idiot, despite not realizing the whole Grindelwald thing last year. She is smart enough to know that Queenie Goldstein and that No-Maj are still seeing each other with no intention of stopping. And frankly, with all of MACUSA’s resources stretched so thin, she doesn't have it in her to try and do anything about it. She could have them _both_ Obliviated, of course, but she wouldn't be surprised if they ended up together anyway. Really, with these people. She doesn't suppose she will ever become a mother, but if she does, she's fairly certain she will have gained quite a lot of practice dealing with this sort of nonsense on a daily basis.

“Hey sis,” Ewan Picquery says as she walks through the door.

“Hello,” she says offhandedly before doing a double take and gasping. “Ewan!” Throwing her arms around her twin brother, she can't help but feel a wave of relief. To be honest, she’s never been so happy to see someone in her life.

He laughs and kisses her on the cheek. “How are you?”

“I — stressed,” she says, flustered. “How did you get here?”

“Took a Portkey,” he says casually, then hugs her again. “I’ve missed you.”

“You too!” Then she sobers. “This is a horrible time for you to visit.”

“Turns out China wasn’t that great,” Ewan says, shrugging. “Thought I’d rather hang around with my sister.”

“You know about Grindelwald, don’t you?”

“Yup. And I’m here for you, Sera. Really.”

“Have you spoken with Mom?”

“Just a little. She’s doing fine, not too worried, you know… ‘Seraphina will fix this, she’s the greatest President we’ve ever had,’ and so on.” He rolls his eyes and walks over to her desk. “What’s that?”

“Paperwork,” she replies wearily. “Grindelwald’s Army is so unpredictable. We know his agenda, and we know why the attacks are happening, but whenever we shut one down or catch one of his supporters, new ones pop up. We’re always one step behind and the only way to do this is to try to understand what his plan is and how we may negotiate. I have Porpentina Goldstein tracking Lucille Wadcock, because there is a possibility that Wadcock has some sort of connection to Grindelwald. Past that, I’m at a loss.”

Ewan sits on her desk. “Hmm, negotiating with a powerful Dark Wizard who thought it’d be fun to, I don’t know, start committing mass murders and terrorizing a bunch of innocent people? Sounds like a job for the pros. Which you are one. You’ll figure it out.”

She smiles. “Your confidence in me is a blessing in times like these, but I’m afraid it isn’t enough.”

“Well,” Ewan says, and waves his wand. A bottle of Gigglewater and two shot glasses appear on the table. “Brought another blessing with me. Maybe that’ll help.”

“Ewan…”

He grins. “Go on, Mom said I could. ‘Would you please tell Sera to loosen up, and when she doesn’t listen to that, try Gigglewater.’ Mother’s orders. Shots. Now.”

Seraphina laughs weakly. “Fine,” she says, and fills the shot glass to the brim.

* * *

“Tell me where we’re going again?” Newt asks Tina as she shuffles through papers, brow furrowed.

“Babington Burg. It’s the equivalent of your — your — what is it, Pigsmeade? Hogsbottom?”

“Hogsmeade,” he says indignantly.

“Yeah, that.” She waves a hand dismissively, trying to find the pencil she was using a moment ago. “It’s the equivalent of that. It’s attached to Ilvermorny.”

“And where _exactly_ are we going?” Newt asks, finding the pencil and handing it to her.

“You really need to start paying attention to these things. Your entire book tour schedule is on the kitchen table.”

“Yes, but I have _you,”_ he points out.

“What happens when I die tragically under a stampede of Newties, hmm?” she asks, hands on hips.

He’s aghast. “Never talk about your tragic death again.”

“Oh, you sap.” She scribbles something down on a piece of scrap paper. “I think I might have a lead on the Wadcock investigation.”

“Brilliant,” he says, not listening in the slightest. “I’m sorry, where did you say we’re going?”

“It’s called The Arcadian Quill.” She sticks the scrap paper under a rock on the mess that has become her desk and grabs Newt’s hand. “Come on, Soph’s waiting.”

They ascend the staircase, Newt still muttering about her joking about _dying,_ and meet a bright-eyed and bushy-tailed assistant. “Hurry up!” she says.

“We’re fine,” Tina assures her.

“Are we?” Newt asks.

Sophia crosses her arms. “Are you going to start bickering again?”

“No,” they reply simultaneously.

“Fine, then let’s get a wiggle on.”

“You’ve been spending _far_ too much time with Queenie,” Newt complains.

She rolls her eyes and mumbles something about lipstick. _“Tell_ me about it.”

It’s starting to warm up a little, given that it’s now the beginning of April, which puts everyone in better spirits. They arrive, _all_ looking relatively happy for once.

“No quarrelling today?” Madam Picquery says drily as they enter.

“Does _everyone_ think we argue all the time? Good grief,” Tina says.

“Old married couple,” Sophia sings, dodging Newt as he tries to step on her foot.

“Thank you for letting me go today, Madam President,” Tina says.

“I have been informed that you’ve had very little sleep in the past few days. I appreciate the effort, although I have also been informed that you are considerably less than pleasant in the mornings, so perhaps an earlier bedtime henceforth.”

“Newt!” Tina snaps. Since when did he get all buddy-buddy with the President?

“W-wasn’t me,” he says unconvincingly. “Hmm? Ah, look, a Portkey.”

“No, that’s just a piece of trash,” Sophia says conversationally. “Good try, big bro.”

“Sorry — you know I’m not _actually_ your big brother, don’t you?”

“Phonus balonus. Until you stop _acting_ like it, you’re officially my brother.”

“I don’t _act_ like it —”

“I kissed Nelson,” she says brightly.

He splutters. “You _WHAT?!_ I’m sorry, _where_ is this young m — did Queenie encourage this? It was Queenie, wasn’t it? Merlin’s beard, you don’t — don’t… _fancy_ him, do you?”

“I do actually, we’re going to get married and have lots of babies,” Sophia quips. She looks at him mirthfully. “But you don’t act like a big brother.”

“Oh, shut up,” Newt says, and scowls at the ground. Then, about five seconds later, “But you didn’t _actually,_ did you?”

“No, we just went on a date.”

_“When?”_

“Oh my god, you are SO gullible!”

“Forgive me if I don’t approve of this — this _nonsense_ when you’re only 20 —”

“Yeah, like Tina wasn’t dating and _kissing_ boys when she was 14 —”

“You know _nothing_ about her when she was 14, you weren’t even in _school_ yet —”

“Don’t you dare play the age card, Newton Scamander!”

“Sorry, it’s just you’re so short sometimes I —”

“Portkey,” Tina announces hurriedly before Sophia can physically injure the magizoologist. Indeed, the actual Portkey has arrived in the form of an unassuming old boot.

“Let’s do this,” Sophia says, still grinning.

“You know...” Newt starts, and everyone in the room groans.

“Please don’t start,” Tina begs him.

“Are those shot glasses on your desk?” Sophia asks loudly.

“Get out of my office,” Madam Picquery says even more loudly, and they do.

* * *

Seraphina is officially having a mental breakdown. There is no other possible explanation as to why she suddenly feels compelled to summon Queenie Goldstein and Jacob Kowalski — a _No-Maj_ — into her office. To be fair, she _is_ operating on rather more Gigglewater than should technically be allowed, but the advantage of being President is that nobody can stop her.

Ewan had to go check into his hotel and promised to drop by at the end of the day. Seeing as all her Aurors are stationed elsewhere (except for one who’s in Babington stuck with the two most argumentative pseudo-siblings in the world), she has nothing to do. And so, rather than stare into the fireplace again — it’s getting very warm; she’ll have to replace it soon with a fish tank or something — she decides to do a good deed.

“Madam President?” Queenie says presently, poking her head in. Jacob Kowalski’s head peers nervously from behind her.

“Sit down, please,” she says, seating herself behind her desk and trying to regain some sense of authority.

“Is this about my job, ma’am?” Queenie asks anxiously.

“No. This is about you and Mr. Kowalski.”

They both turn white.

“I know the two of you have been seeing one another for nearly a year. In fact, I even know that you are engaged to be married.”

“W-we — what?” sputters Jacob. “I never seen her in my _life —”_

“Please, Mr. Kowalski. I’m not here to punish you. I am here to…” She closes her eyes briefly and swallows. “I am here to grant you exemption from the Statute of Secrecy.”

“What?” Jacob says.

“Madam President,” Queenie says in a hushed, reverent tone. “Are you saying me and Jacob can — can _marry?”_

Now, that’s pushing the envelope. “Not marry, no. That is something to be discussed another time. But here on out, you may be seen in public as much as you wish, you may Apparate with Jacob, and he will be able to accompany you to magical locations such as Babington.”

“Oh, that’s _wonderful!”_ Queenie gushes. “Madam President, _thank you_ ever so much —” She wraps her arms around Jacob, who still looks shell-shocked and confused as to how he got from the back room of his bakery to the President of MACUSA’s office. “Baby, we — we’re free!”

“That’s… that’s real kind of you, Miss President,” he says, raising a hand to pat his ecstatic fiancé on the back.

“So can we go… now?” Queenie asks breathlessly.

“Please. I really must stop allowing you people in my office.”

“I’m sure Newt and Tina and Sophia are _perfectly_ behaved in your…” Queenie’s voice trails off. “Well. Not _perfectly._ But _oh,_ Madam President, thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“You’re welcome. Now. Please get out of my office.”

Beaming, Queenie grabs Jacob’s arm and Disapparates with a crack.

Seraphina buries her face in her hands and groans. Really, _what_ is the world coming to?

* * *

Lucille is deep in thought when Frida walks into the room.

“Hello,” she starts to say, about to ask what the woman wants.

“John Edgecombe.” Lucille freezes, the breath knocked out of her. Frida is looking at her impenetrably. “That’s what I thought.”

“How do you —” she asks shakily. She hasn’t heard the name in years, since her last conversation with…

“I know things. I know what you’re planning, and why you’re planning it. And I can help.”

“You are already taking care of —”

“No. In Scotland. I can help.”

“Frida, I —”

“I am the best assassin you will ever hire, Lucille. You know that.”

“Yes, but this is something I —”

“Must do alone?” Frida shakes her head, fixing a steely slate blue gaze on her. “The wand work, perhaps. The emotion —”

“Get. Out,” Lucille says, voice trembling. “Leave.”

Frida is unfazed. “At some point, Miss Wadcock, you will need to change your ways. Consider it.”

“You don’t understand,” Lucille forces out.

“Perhaps not. But I have met people like you —”

“Him? He is not like me,” Lucille sneers. “You have met him, he has different reasons.”

“Not him. You would not know them. But I can help. You are suffering.”

“I’m _fine.”_

“No,” Frida says simply, in the same level, calm voice she always uses. She’s an efficient, impassive, emotionless assassin — which is why it’s so ridiculous that she would make such an offer. Lucille’s head is spinning. “Goodbye, Lucille.” The door slams shut.

The warehouse is silent save for the slow, insistent dripping of a leak from the ceiling. _Drip. Drip. Drip. Dr —_ Lucille seizes her wand and all but _hurls_ it at the pathetic dribble of water. It turns to dry ice, then slowly cracks and shatters, falling to the floor in a million tiny pieces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed!


	30. When you see clouds upon the hill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Newt is ready to jinx the boy talking to Sophia, Theseus explains the days of the week, and Lucille is done with Phillip being an idiot.
> 
> “It’s only that, well… I have cared for few people in my lifetime. You and Sophia have somehow become more than important, to me. Sophia and I have a — a connection, of some sort, a strong one. When I care about somebody, I can’t stand to see them hurt. Whether that’s some horrible man taking advantage of Sophia or somebody trying to hurt you, I’ll do anything within my power to stop that. So no, I don’t want Sophia waltzing around flirting with men every which way.”
> 
> Chapter title from "April Showers" by B.G. DeSylva (1921)

They arrive in Babington Burg exactly on time… but, apparently, on the wrong day. This becomes evident the moment Newt walks into The Arcadian Quill and everybody turns and stares at him.

“Erm, hello,” he says to a young girl. She turns scarlet. “Do you know where the owner is?”

“Y-y-yes,” she says, stuttering madly. “Th — over there. Name is — is Mathilde Catchlove.”

“And I thought ‘Newt Scamander’ was bad,” Sophia mutters.

Newt makes a beeline for the woman the Newtie had pointed out. She’s organizing books on a bookshelf and glaring at a group of raucous teenage boys playing with a fanged frisbee in the corner.

“Hello, Miss Catchlove?” he asks.

She spins around and gasps. “Mr. Scamander! You’re early!”

Tina frowns. “I’m sorry, it _was_ scheduled for half past one today, wasn’t it?”

“Oh no, it’s tomorrow!”

Newt and Tina turn to glare at each other simultaneously. “One minute,” Tina says, grabbing Newt’s arm and dragging him out of the store, Sophia trailing behind.

“You said it was today!” Newt immediately defends himself, before she’s gotten a word out.

“And YOU had the schedule ON THE TABLE because it came ADDRESSED TO YOU and you didn’t see fit to open it!”

“It’s not my fault if I just _assumed_ you — you would get the timing right, you always _do,”_ Newt protests. “Am I not supposed to trust you?”

“This isn’t about trust! This is about paying attention and not having your head in the clouds all the —”

Someone coughs. They freeze and look over; five girls have clustered around the pair and are now staring open-mouthed at the scene unfolding before them. “Hello,” Newt says, giving a friendly wave. Tina elbows him sharply.

Their four-foot-eleven bodyguard steps in. “Alright, so this old married couple is having a fight, and shockingly you’re _not_ all invited — any of you, actually — so if you wouldn’t mind just going back to what you were doing. He’s taken anyway, just so you know, and he’s about a million years older than you, thought I should point that out too. Also, I work with him all the time and he really isn’t that great… just one girl’s opinion… swell, there you go, buh-bye,” and she shoves the last ogling girl away from the vicinity. Then she turns to the aforesaid old married couple. “Should I leave you two to fight in peace? Or am I going to be the moderator again? I’m not too picky, but I’d really like to go by Cauldrons of Candy —”

“You can’t have sweets,” Newt says, “you’ll get too energetic.”

“I’m always too energetic!”

He sighs. “If you _must,_ but nothing with caffeine. _Nothing.”_

“Aye aye, captain.”

“And don’t talk to any boys!” he calls after her as she skips off. He turns back to Tina, frowning. “Did you hear what she said about Nelson in Madam Picquery’s office? Do you reckon —”

“Newt,” Tina hisses, still none too pleased. “What are we supposed to do now? I’ve already taken the day off, Soph’s already on a shopping spree…” Her voice trails off and she puts her hands on her hips, tilting her head to look at him. “We could stay here, all of us, until tomorrow.”

His head snaps up. “What?”

“Yeah. There’s a hotel where parents stay when they’re visiting their kids, but it’s open to anyone.” She looks uncomfortable. Newt can’t imagine why, given that this is an excellent proposal.

“No, that sounds — that sounds brilliant. I can, you know. See the… see the sights.”

Her scowl has slowly turned into a look of exasperation, then resignation, and finally jaded fondness. “See the sights. Okay.”

“Don’t make fun of me,” he says indignantly.

She takes his hand. “Make fun of you? Never!”

“Oh, very funny,” Newt says. “You can be my tour guide.”

“Ah, I see how it is. You rope me in with your fame and British accent just so you have a free tour around Babington.”

“I _do_ have a bit of a British accent, don’t I?”

She gazes at him incredulously, then shakes her head and laughs. “What, did you not realize that until now?”

“No, I — just not _consciously._ It isn’t an issue, is it?” he asks, concerned. “It’s not… weird?” Of course, _he’s_ never minded weirdness, but in his quest to eventually marry this woman he’s made every effort to be as Normal and Not Weird as possible.

“It’s eccentric,” she says, kissing him on the cheek. “Come on, let’s find Sophia and get something to eat.”

As they’re meandering down the road, Newt suddenly sees his assistant sitting and talking to a young man in front of the candy shop. As he watches, she laughs and he moves much closer to her than is necessary, resting his arm casually on the back of the bench. “Absolutely _not,”_ he says, getting ready to brandish his wand.

“Newt, stop,” Tina says, grabbing his wrist. “It’s sweet! Let her talk to guys. You _have_ to.”

He puts his wand away. “Do I, though?”

“Not all guys are bad.”

“A fair number of them are. A _very_ fair number.”

“Yeah, some of them, maybe, but really, she’s gotta start dating sometime. She’s a pretty young woman with a friendly personality. Guys like her!”

“Which is precisely what I’m worried about,” Newt mutters as they get closer.

“Fine, when she gets a date, you and I can go undercover and chaperone from afar. Does that make you feel better?”

He considers it for a moment. “Very well.” Tina really _is_ brilliant. “But if she brings somebody round the apartment…”

“At this point I’m thinking the only reason she would do that is to get on your nerves, because if she actually wants a guy to want to date her, she’s not bringing him anywhere _near_ you.”

The guy sitting with Sophia laughs and touches — _touches! —_ her on the arm. Well, _that’s_ crossed a line. “Inappropriate,” Newt says firmly, letting go of Tina’s hand to stride over to the bench.

“Oh hey,” Sophia chirps up. “This is Tristan.”

Newt glares at Tristan, who hurriedly scoots several inches away from Sophia. That’s better.

“Tristan, this is Newt.”

Tristan smiles and extends a hand. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

Newt does _not_ appreciate the tone of voice, or the smug expression on this guy’s face. Yes, he _much_ prefers Nelson at this point. “Mm,” he says in response.

Tristan’s glaringly white smile fades, but revives itself as he turns to Tina. “This must be your wife?”

Alright, Newt _officially_ does not like this guy. Sophia is shooting him looks, all of which he dodges. “Sophie, we’re leaving,” he informs her before Tina can correct Tristan.

“They’re not married, so you just made it super awkward,” Sophia explains to Tristan, and ignores Newt. The audacity of this girl!

Tristan acts a bit _too_ apologetic. “Oh! I’m so sorry. Can I buy you a —”

“You needn’t buy us anything,” Newt says shortly. “Come on, Soph.”

“You and Tina can go ahead, I want to stay here and talk to —”

“I’m certain Tristan has other things to do, we wouldn’t want to impose on his time.”

“No, I have the whole day free, actually, I was just telling Sophia — we were thinking we might go have a look around the shops?” He says it as though he’s asking permission, which is marginally mollifying. He’d _better_ ask permission, Newt thinks heatedly.

“We actually need Sophia to —”

“It’s fine,” Tina cuts in, and Newt does not miss the look that passes between her and Sophia. These damn _women._ “We’ll catch up with you later, okay?”

Newt gives Tristan one more (hopefully) threatening glare before allowing himself to be steered away by Tina.

“You really need to tone it down,” she says to him once they’re out of earshot.

“Tina, I know what young men like him are thinking. He’s just another Alec.” She winces. “Sorry, that’s not what I… Alec was an anomaly, but the — the point is, she’s… young, and — and innocent, and if I’m not equipped to comfort her when her father’s been an arse, I don’t know what I’ll do if she — if a young man should… break her heart.”

It feels terribly embarrassing to be admitting such a thing. Still, it’s true. He possesses more protective instincts than he previously realized; playing Mummy to all of his hurt and damaged beasts over the years has certainly transferred nicely onto his relationship with Sophia. And humans — particularly young men — are much more similar to creatures than one would expect. To think of somebody taking advantage of Sophia, or even being _mean_ … well, _he’s_ allowed to make as much fun of her as he pleases, but that’s nobody else’s privilege.

Tina’s right, too: Sophia’s an objectively, _unfortunately_ attractive girl, and he wonders if he could possibly make her just a _tad_ uglier. The problem of her personality remains, though, because as offputting as it may be to some people, there are plenty of men who appreciate intellect and wit (generally because they lack it in copious amounts).

“That’s really nice,” Tina says quietly, squeezing his hand. “But she’ll be fine.”

He bites his lip. “It’s only that, well… I have cared for few people in my lifetime, Tina. You and Sophia have somehow become… important, _more_ than important, to me. My reasons for caring for you are rather obvious at this point, and although I really don’t understand why I would care so much about someone as _irritating_ as that girl, she’s been a good friend, and, well. We have a — a connection, of some sort, a strong one.

“But… when I care about somebody, I can’t stand to see them hurt. I can’t, Tina. Whether that’s some _horrible_ man taking advantage of Sophia or somebody trying to hurt you, I — I’ll do anything within my power to stop that. So no, I don’t want Sophia waltzing around flirting with men every which way.”

Tina gets that odd look she gets whenever he delivers one of his trademark stilted speeches about feelings, and by now he’s able to understand that it’s generally not a _bad_ sort of look, and in fact is often followed by a kiss, which he’s certainly not going to object to. “You’re a good guy,” she says simply, smiling at him with a particular softness in her eyes that makes his insides come over a bit wobbly. “Don’t worry about Sophia. She can take care of herself. I mean, can you really see a guy getting away with anything she doesn’t want to do? She poked you so hard you gave me a bloody lip, I can only imagine what would happen if she was actually mad.”

“So sorry about that, by the way,” Newt says, a part of him forever holding a grudge against Sophia for setting off such an unfortunate chain of events. “Is it better now?”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Tina assures him.

“Perhaps I ought to _check,_ just to make sure,” he says, and kisses her thoroughly.

“Newt!” she yelps, batting him away and looking around to see if people are staring (a few of them are, but why should that matter? They could write a bloody article about Newt Scamander and Tina Goldstein snogging in the middle of American Hogsmeade for all he cares).

“Yes,” he says, grinning, “I think it’s healed over by now.”

“You’re ridiculous,” she mutters, but her cheeks have gone a satisfying shade of pink.

“You say that a lot,” he comments.

“‘Cause it’s true,” she counters.

“But it’s really a compliment. Because I’m _your_ kind of ridiculous.”

“Sure,” she says, sounding long-suffering and sarcastic, but he knows her well enough by now to know that what she really means is _yes, you are._

* * *

Dear Newton,

I am writing to make sure you recall making plans to go home on Thursday. To clarify, today is Monday. Thursday is in three days. Tomorrow is Tuesday, then Wednesday, and then it’s Thursday. I have heard from certain Aurors that you are still incapable of keeping track of your own book signings, so I felt compelled to explain the day-of-the-week system once again.

I have spoken with Madam Picquery, who has lodged several complaints about your relentless presence in her office. Despite this, I daresay she has become rather fond of your motley crew, and agreed that you can take a Portkey from MACUSA once again. She didn’t specify a location, but to be honest I have a feeling she doesn’t quite trust you anywhere else, so I will presume you should report to her on Thursday morning, which is in three days, when the sun comes up. Shall I explain how a clock’s hands work?

I will meet you in the village (perhaps we could have lunch, and I can become acquainted with your Tina and assistant?) once you arrive.

Please stay out of trouble: we are almost in the home stretch before you will be back here safe and sound. Or at least under myself and Mum’s keen eye. We do miss you.

Love,

Theseus

* * *

Dear Theseus,

Bugger off. I know the days of the week. And I’m not altogether sure how I feel about Tina reporting on me, but to be fair I told Madam Picquery about her sleep deprivation and resultant terrible moods.

Relentless? It’s not as though I fancy getting rug burn in her office every bloody day. I don’t have a choice.

We are keeping out of trouble as best as we can. The three of us are currently staying the night in Babington Burg (do not DARE make any insinuations) because we got the day wrong (shut UP) and I am sampling a multitude of American candies. I can’t say as I like them much at all, but it’s worth it to see Tina laugh.

I worry that I’m getting a big head, because I was outraged to discover that this boy flirting with Sophia in town today didn’t recognize me. I think I just resent everything about him, though. Please keep me in check: if I start to sound stuck up, hit me. Or tell Sophia to jab me in the ribs so long as the area is clear and my hands are empty.

Incidentally, have you any tips on what to do if you dislike a person very much and would like them to never come near another person? I ask because young men seem to keep courting Sophia and although Tina insists I “let it go,” asking me to do so is like asking me to leave my niffler in a room full of gold and explosives. It’s sure to inevitably cause a massive scene and everyone in the vicinity will get hurt.

At any rate, between ridiculous American candy and screaming young women tomorrow, I don’t know how much trouble we could get into. Unless a Newtie goes rogue, but Sophia has become quite adept at containing those situations.

The girls are making fun of me now, so I think I’d better leave. I’ll see you soon.

Love,

Newt

* * *

Phillip forces his way into Lucille’s office Monday evening. “They’re in Babington,” he says, fingers twitching in agitation.

Idiot. “No, not until tomorrow.”

“They got there early. I heard they’re staying overnight.”

That means nothing to her. “What of it?”

“I could get to her sooner. Tonight.”

She shakes her head. “No. Your impulsivity is going to be your downfall, Phillip. We must stick to the schedule. An attack tonight would be guaranteed to end poorly.”

“I want to see him,” he says tightly, desperately.

“You are not seeing _anyone_ until you collect yourself and perform your duty.”

“He said he would help…”

Lucille begins to raise her voice. “He very likely will, but not if you are disregarding _my_ orders and disrupting the plan. Do you think I do not know what I’m doing?” The chair creaks as she gets to her feet, dagger-sharp heels scratching against the concrete floor.

He backs up slightly. “No, Miss Wadcock, of course not.”

She’s advancing on him now; they’re both standing, and despite the fact that he’s a foot taller than her, he’s the one cowering. “Do you remember why I am doing this?” She seizes his chin with one hand, dragging it down so he has to look her in the eyes.

“For the greater good,” he whispers, gaze darting back and forth.

“You are unstable, Phillip,” she says, relinquishing him. “Wait until tomorrow. And be discreet. It is a simple thing we are asking of you. Do not get hot-headed and betray us now.”

“Yes… yes, ma’am,” he says, and bows on his way out. She flicks her wand at the door; it slams shut. That stupid man… the odds of tomorrow’s mission being successful are slim to none. Still, she does like to make a statement, and this _certainly_ will.

In her line of business, she has learned to enjoy the game. To leave people guessing. To lie and deceive. She has gone too far now to go back, and thus her only options are to be miserable or to find pleasure in pursuit of her goals.

“Tomorrow, this could all be over,” she whispers to herself, stroking the chain of beads around her neck.

It isn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, we're almost there! Another chapter or two and we'll finally get some hardcore action going.
> 
> I'm going to post an intermission explaining Babington, hopefully tomorrow. I'm going to try to get it up before the next couple chapters but we'll see how cooperative everybody wants to be.
> 
> Honestly, I freaking love letter exchanges. Perhaps I'll write up a series of miscellaneous letter exchanges and post them at some point as outtakes when we all need a breather.


	31. Intermission, Part IV: Babington Burg Directory

Called “Babington” for short (like “Puddingstone”), Babington Burg is the Ilvermorny equivalent of Hogsmeade. Babingtonite is Massachusetts’s official state mineral, and “burg” is a chiefly North American informal term for a town or city. I know it’s similar in name and general feel to Puddingstone Place, which might seem a little lazy or hackneyed, but that’s how it is!

Getting to go to Babington is a slightly different process for Ilvermorny students than for Hogwarts students going to Hogsmeade. Parental permission is not required; once you reach 14, so long as you have a close to perfect attendance and conduct history, you have full access to it with a curfew of 9 pm on school nights and 10 pm on weekends. Given its restaurants and shops, students will often spend time there with friends after or between classes, and Javawocky has a hidden study space in the back room which the more studious Ilvermornians like to frequent. *****

* * *

Food establishments

_The Jagged Magpie_ (Montague Wintringham) is a pub, primarily reserved for adult visitors and students of age.

 _The Frosty Finger_ (Mimi Sprinkle — yes, related to the owner of The Drippity Cone in Puddingstone) is an ice cream store.

 _The Mighty Oak_ (Aspen Wood & Willow Pine — Aspen is related to the Wood family which owns the broom shop in Puddingstone Place) is an American restaurant. “The Mighty Oak Tree” (or oak tree in general) was established as the national tree in 2004.

 _Cauldrons of Candy_ (Carlos Carrington) is a sweets shop. Newt is not a fan of this place, as he has traumatic memories of watching Tristan try to flirt with Sophia.

 _Javawocky Café_ (Corey Watkins) is a terrible, awful pun. I apologize to the world. It’s called “Javawocky” not just for the pun but also because it’s one of the favored study spots for the more bookish students, and _Jabberwocky_ is a poem, so that relates to literature, get it… get it… nope? Okay, moving on.

* * *

Shopping locations

_The Arcadian Quill_ (Mathilde Catchlove) is the bookshop where Newt has his third book signing. It also sells stationery. Additionally, the back room is open for student use, and although half the time it’s filled with giggling girls cavorting with teenage boys, during exam weeks they will set up tables and reserve the area for students to study in (which is what my local library does), providing free refreshments. However, if a student attempts to eat the refreshments and hasn’t been studying, they are duly ejected from the room, much to everyone else’s amusement.

 _The Amorous Amulet_ (Amber Jewett) is the jewelry store and frankly it sells rather gaudy, cheap jewelry. You ain’t getting an engagement ring here. Still, it’s suitable enough for Valentine’s Day gifts and the like.

 _Glenrose Garden_ (Rose Fern  & Glen Smuggs) is an herbology/floral shop. Okay, let’s walk through how I got _this._ I translated “rose flower bud” into Latin, which is _surgens flos germen._ Then I found an anagram of that, which was _Rose Fern Glen Smuggs._ I considered titling the shop _Fern & Smuggs _or something to that effect, but the rose is America’s official flower, and I wanted to keep that. Hence, Glenrose. It’s actually ridiculous because I could’ve come up with that name off the top of my head, but oh well. That’s why the owners are Rose Fern and Glen Smuggs.

 _Plymouth Potions_ (Mordred Dredge) is a potion shop named for Plymouth Rock, which if you don’t know is the traditional site of the disembarkation of the _Mayflower_ Pilgrims in 1620. It’s located in Plymouth, MA.

* * *

Practical things

_Minuteman Mail_ is the post office. Minutemen were instrumental during the Revolutionary War and the “shot heard round the world,” which started the Revolutionary War, took place in the battles of Concord and Lexington, MA. A _lot_ of places here use some form of “minuteman” in their title.

 _Ilvermorny Express_ is not at all creative, but hey, some things have to be boring.

 _Chadwick’s Variety Store_ (Chadwick Baldock) is the same one as is in Puddingstone Place. I chose this because I love CVS Pharmacy, and it’s a chain, so there you have it.

 _Revere’s Repair_ (the Revere family) is a general repair shop for wands, equipment that could not be safely or adequately repaired by anyone at Ilvermorny, brooms, and the like. Paul Revere, of course, is a famous figure from Massachusetts who’s best known for alerting colonial militia to the approach of British forces before the battle of Lexington and Concord. Longfellow wrote “Paul Revere’s Ride,” a dramatized poem, about this event.

 _Independence Inn_ (the Lawlor family) is the local motel, which typically hosts visiting parents but is available to all (seeing as our favorite quintet stay the night there).

* * *

 ***** Note: this setup was inspired by my high school, which was walking distance from our town center, and once we reached a certain grade we earned off-campus privileges, so a lot of people would use study halls or lunch blocks to walk to town with friends. Once school is over, the town center is normally filled with students milling around at Starbucks, etc. Also, I wanted Babington to be different from Hogsmeade — and with this system, kids like Harry won’t run into the issue of getting permission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congrats if you read through all that! This was, like, 5 hours worth of research and planning. I am way too invested in this fic. But I'm having so much fun designing the American wizarding world!


	32. Intermission, Part V: American wizarding candies

Hello! Of course sweets are a very important part of describing the American wizarding culture, so here I’ve compiled a list of _some_ of the candies available at the time, complete with full explanations and descriptions. Enjoy!

* * *

 _Salem Bars_ come in three varieties based on three of the most common names used by American witches and wizards as interjections (Mercy Lewis, which is used in the movies; Wilmot Redd, who is recognized in the American restaurant Redd, Whyte, and Bleu, located in Puddingstone Place; and Eunice Frye, whose name is often used to embellish similar to “Merlin’s pants!” — Seraphina Picquery thinks “Eunice Frye’s saggiest left —” at one point). When you bite into each bar, it will utter the eponymous interjection in various comedic voices.

  * _Oh Mercy!_ — A milk chocolate bar with marshmallow filling.
  * _Oh Wilmot!_ — A dark chocolate bar with black cherry filling.
  * _Oh Eunice!_ — A white chocolate bar with peppermint filling.



These bars are all based on the _Oh Henry! Bar_ which was introduced in 1920 by Williamson Candy Co.

 _Nether & Voids _ are wheel-shaped candies made of a licorice exterior and a sweet, nearly invisible filling that gently puffs out and dissolves in the air when you bite into the candy.

 _Heartstones_ have the consistency of a Swedish Fish and are shaped like hearts, about the size of a quarter. They’re one of the candies of choice for Valentine’s Day. These are _easily_ infused with love potion (Romilda Vane hmm...), so consumers are warned to perform a spell which will reveal whether or not their candy has been enchanted.

 _Liberty Bells_ are somewhat similar to Kinder Eggs, with a silver chocolate exterior also lined with white chocolate that is shaped like the liberty bell. It rings loudly when you break it open. Inside are collectible figurines of people (wizards and No-Majs) important to the history of the country. They’re similar to Chocolate Frog cards.

 _Bay Wafers_ are colorful sugary wafers, similar to Necco wafers (which are made by the New England Confectionery Company) but of a slightly chewier and less chalky consistency. People from Massachusetts are technically called Bay Staters, so I named these after that particular moniker, although the term “Masshole” is officially in the OED.

 _Grumbles & Chuckles _come in a small cardboard box, one half of which contains Grumbles and the other half of which contains Chuckles.

  * _Grumbles_ are known to make the consumer grouchy, such that they can only grumble. They consist of dark chocolate, spiky clusters with crisped rice (somewhat like Nestlé Crunch bars). The effect of Grumbles will wear off within a few minutes without the antidote. The ingredients found in Hate Potion (which was recommended by the _Daily Prophet’s_ advice column for unrequited love and shows the drinker the person’s worst traits and habits) in much smaller amounts are _rumored_ to be present. These candies were manufactured long ago by Ilvermorny students trying to exact relatively harmless revenge, and somehow caught on. When young children are being difficult, people may ask them if they’ve had a packet of Grumbles.
  * _Chuckles_ are an actual colorful, sugared jelly candy. They are the only known antidote to Grumbles. Some Chuckles are infused with Gigglewater, though those are banned from Cauldron of Candy due to minors. Taken alone, they may make the consumer overly happy, but too many can cause feelings of euphoria that lead the taker to take potentially dangerous risks.



_Patriot Pasties_ are small pasties that are filled with red, white, and blue cream fillings, which taste like cherry, vanilla, and cotton candy, respectively. They are pretty disgusting, but some people like them, and they’re often forced on everyone on the Fourth of July.

 _Fenway Flakies_ are a little similar to the flakiness of Butterfingers (which, incidentally, were created in 1923) and the flakiness of Flake bars (which were introduced in 1920). Fenway Park, which opened in 1912, is a baseball park in Boston. As such, Fenway Flakies come molded in the shape of a baseball bat and baseball.

 _Concord Cannons_ are named for Concord, MA. They are called cannons because of the significance of the Revolutionary War; in March 1776, Patriots captured cannons at Fort Ticonderoga and brought them to Boston. These are nougat-filled chocolate bars resembling cannons, and let out a loud bang when you bite into them.

 _Copperhead Crunchies_ are replicas of the Crunchie bar (a personal favorite), but they’re shaped like a snake and cause the consumer to make a hissing sound when eaten. They have a honeycomb toffee center. Copperhead rattlesnakes are found in Massachusetts as well as all over North America.

 _Bash Bish Berries_ are similar to fruit snacks, fruit gushers, etc. They are shaped like berries and change colors. They come on an edible “stem” from which the consumer can pick the colorful candies, which can sometimes bounce around the tin in excitement. Bash Bish Falls is Massachusetts' highest single-drop waterfall.

 _Ye Olde Pepper Candy_ is directly taken from the No-Maj Gibraltar hard candy; the two original flavors are lemon and peppermint. Ye Olde Pepper Candy Companie is supposedly the oldest candy company in America — allegedly producing the first candy commercially made in the country — and dates back to 1806. It was started by an English woman who was shipwrecked and landed in Salem, MA. When people learned she could make delicious candy, they got together and bought sugar for her; this was the beginning of the "Salem Gibraltar.”

 _Marblehead Mints_ are your basic hard mints, shaped like ships. When consumed with water, they may cause the consumer’s head to briefly turn into a sailboat, but otherwise they’re completely harmless. Marblehead is a coastal town in Massachusetts. It was a major shipyard known as the birthplace of the American Navy, the origin of Marine Corps Aviation, and a center of recreational boating, sailing, kayaking, and fishing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glad to have been able to finally post those two intermissions! Now we will resume the story uninterrupted... for now, at least ;)


	33. Loved you from the start, honey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Newt causes mayhem at a horribly-named café, Tina is a sore loser, and Sophia once again has to save the day.
> 
> “But you make the perfect footrest,” Sophia whines very mockingly, and puts them back.
> 
> He forces her feet off his lap so violently that she loses her balance and falls back in the chair, resulting in hot chocolate spilling everywhere, shards of broken pottery, Tina trying very hard not to laugh, a horrified Queenie, an equally horrified but also smug Newt, the biscuit flying up and smacking Jacob in the face, Sophia struggling to sit up on the floor, and an entire shop of people staring at them.
> 
> Chapter title from “Honey” by Rudy Vallee (1929)

They agree that Sophia and Tina will share a room at the Independence Inn, given that it would be uncomfortable and suspect for Tina and Newt even to share a room with separate beds (despite the fact that they’ve done just that for the past month), and accordingly ask for two rooms. Of course, the hotelier assumes that one room is for Newt and Tina, and, what's worse, gives them a single bed. This mistake is realized only after Sophia says, “Ew, I don't wanna sleep in the same bed as Tina,” and the hotelier looks very confused. “They're not married,” she explains, grabbing Tina's left hand and waving it around. “See? No ring! Anyway, could we _please_ have separate beds? And no, she’s not my sister.”

“So sorry about that,” the hotelier apologizes, and hands them another set of keys.

“Why does everyone assume we’re married?” Newt asks Sophia as they walk towards the stairs.

“Because you _act_ like you are?”

“How do we _act_ like we’re married?”

“I don’t know, you bicker all the time, you’re way too comfortable with each other, and you also look at each other with cartoon hearts in your eyes, it’s disgusting.”

Newt flushes at this; amused, Tina pats him on the back as they find their rooms.

“I should tell Queenie we’re staying the night,” Tina tells Newt and Sophia. “I’ll just send an owl, I’ll be back in —”

She’s interrupted unexpectedly by her sister, who comes bounding into the room, squealing, and pulling Jacob — Jacob? — by the hand. “Teenie! Madam President gave us an _exception,_ isn’t that _wonderful?”_

“She what?”

“She said Jacob and I can be seen together, and we can Apparate” — “That was worse than trying to fit through Newt’s suitcase,” Jacob grumbles — “and, well…” Her face falls. “We can’t marry, _yet,_ but we don’t have to _hide_ anymore!”

“Queenie! That’s wonderful news!” Tina cries, embracing her sister.

Newt, not quite knowing what to do, gives an awkward nod. “I’m — I’m very glad to hear it,” he says.

“That’s _awesome!”_ Sophia beams and jumps up and down. “You guys…” She sighs. “I hope someday I’ll find the Jacob to my Queenie.”

“Yes, but perhaps not for a very long time,” Newt suggests. Tina frowns at him, although her _eyes_ are most definitely smiling.

“Oh, did you hear? Newt _and_ Tina got the day wrong,” Sophia smirks, “so we’re staying here overnight. In separate rooms, of course.” She sniggers. “They thought Tina and Newt were mar —”

Newt slaps a hand over her mouth.

“We heard you were staying the night, so we brought your things,” Queenie says, proffering Newt’s suitcase. “All your clothes are inside.” She turns to Sophia. “I didn’t know where yours were, but you can probably borrow —”

“Oh, I have a spare outfit in there,” Sophia says unconcernedly, gesturing to the suitcase.

Queenie reads her mind briefly, then looks at her disapprovingly. “Sophie… you can’t wear _men’s_ clothes…”

“They’re not men’s clothes, they’re just knickers, plenty of women wear them —”

“For _sports,_ not for book signings in Babington!”

“Right,” Newt says as the two glower at each other. He takes the case from Queenie and starts steering Sophia down the hall. “Pick your battles,” he advises the Legilimens in a low voice. Sighing, she lets it go.

“Hey Newt!” Sophia says merrily. “Let’s go to Cauldrons of Candy again, I want you to try American candy!”

“Oh, yes,” Newt says, remembering something extraordinarily important to discuss. “What happened to the young man?”

“Tristan?” she says.

He grimaces in distaste. “Yes, him.”

“He tried to ask me on a date,” she says off-handedly. “Then he tried to kiss me. I slapped him in the face — not _too_ hard — and he scampered back to Ilvermorny. So, that’s the end of that,” she concludes cheerfully.

Newt heaves a sigh of relief. “See?” Tina murmurs, coming up next to him and linking her arm through his. “She can take care of herself.”

They head down the stairs, Queenie and Jacob off in their own world and trailing behind the trio. Then Newt remembers something _else._ “What about Nelson?” he asks Sophia sharply.

“That’s… that’s different,” she stammers, and he does not like the fact that she’s averting her eyes.

“Sophia! Are you seeing him again?”

“No… well, maybe a little bit. But we’re just friends!” she adds hurriedly.

Newt does not like _that_ either. However, he can’t very well prevent Sophia from making friends, so he visibly surrenders. “He just seemed a _bit_ too friendly,” he comments to Tina.

“Are you going to do this all day?” she asks, sounding legitimately irritated at this point. They step outside and she removes her arm. Oh, bugger.

“No,” he says quickly. “No, I…” He glances helplessly at Sophia, who raises an eyebrow and shrugs. _That little git._ “I won’t,” he declares finally, looking her in the eye. “Truly.”

“Yeah, alright,” she says, only half-convinced. “You’re going to _love_ fatherhood, if you have a daughter,” she adds.

 _I’m going to love fatherhood if I have a daughter with_ you. “I’m already quite enjoying motherhood,” he says, referring to his case of creatures. “I’m sure fatherhood isn’t exceptionally different.”

“You’ll see,” Tina says, laughing and opening the door of the sweets shop for him.

Inside, the walls are covered with bright, garish displays and everything smells like cotton candy. There are rotating racks, glass cases, and quite a lot of people talking. Sophia drags them over to one side of the store, grabbing candies at random, before throwing them all on the counter and asking Newt for his money pouch.

“I don’t get to choose?” he asks in mingled annoyance and disappointment.

“Nope,” she says happily.

“Just pay and we can leave,” Tina mutters in his ear. Sighing, he hands over the money.

“I’m giving him Grumbles,” Sophia tells Tina as they walk out. _“And_ Marblehead Mints, with a glass of water.”

“No,” Tina says sternly.

“It’ll be so funny!”

“Only if you give him Chuckles, and no water with the mints.”

“What about Bash Bish Berries, they’re _totally_ harmless…”

“Just… just be nice.”

“I’m _always_ nice,” Sophia claims. “Hey, where’d Queenie and Jacob go?”

“They said something about a cup of coffee,” Tina recalls.

“Oh, they’re at Javawocky then!”

“What _are_ these place names?” Newt asks.

“You tell _me,_ Madame _Puddifoot’s_ Tea Shop. At least ours are clever.”

Newt opens his mouth to retort, looks at Tina, and clamps his mouth shut. They follow Sophia to Javawocky Café where, sure enough, Queenie and Jacob are having something of a romantic coffee shop date.

“Hi, honey,” Queenie says to Sophia when she skips over.

“I got American candy,” Sophia announces, brandishing the bag like a prize.

“And she’s going to be _nice_ about it,” Tina adds pointedly.

“I’m just gonna go get myself something to drink —”

“No!” Queenie, Tina, _and_ Newt interject simultaneously.

“Only if it has no caffeine,” Newt says. “No coffee. No tea.”

“It’s like I have _three_ parents,” Sophia grumbles. “Mom lets me have coffee _all the time.”_

“We aren’t your mum,” Newt replies.

“Yeah, and she doesn’t have to watch you bounce off the walls afterwards,” Tina notes.

Annoyed, Sophia walks over to order. Tina and Newt sit in the loveseat next to Queenie and Jacob; after a few moments of awkward uncertainty and a glare from Queenie, he puts his arm around Tina, which is much more comfortable than having it squished in between them anyway.

Sophia returns with a biscuit and mug of hot chocolate, which Newt tastes to make _absolute sure_ it’s not coffee. If he’s going to be sleeping with her in the next room, it is _imperative_ for his sanity that she not be any more energetic than usual. Once he’s confirmed that her drink is caffeine free, she kicks back in the wicker chair across from them and rests her feet on Newt’s lap. He shoves them off. “No.”

“But you make the perfect footrest,” she whines very mockingly, and puts them back.

“No. Absolutely not. Off,” he insists, pushing them off again.

“My feet hurt, you’ve dragged me around all day…”

He forces her feet off his lap so violently that she loses her balance and falls back in the chair, resulting in hot chocolate spilling everywhere, shards of broken pottery, Tina trying _very_ hard not to laugh, a horrified Queenie, an equally horrified but also smug Newt, the biscuit flying up and smacking Jacob in the face, Sophia struggling to sit up on the floor, and an entire shop of people staring at them.

Nobody knows what to say, particularly as all heads swivel to Newt specifically.

“That’s Newt Scamander!” someone calls out.

“Hello,” he says.

The owner, Corey Watkins, comes running over. He’s a very nice 30-year-old man with two toddlers, and as such immediately takes stock of the situation, ready for anything from tears to broken bones. “Are you alright?” he asks Sophia, helping her up.

“Fine,” she says, and shoots Newt an absolute _death_ glare.

“What happened? It wasn’t the chair, was it? I keep telling maintenance we need those fixed.”

“No, it was Newt,” she says, straightening her skirt, now stained with hot chocolate and looking furiously at him.

“She was using my lap as a footrest,” Newt complains.

“Yeah, that’ll hold up in court,” she snaps.

“I asked you _very_ nicely, and —”

Tina buries her face in her hands. Jacob is still blinking cookie crumbs out of his eyes and Queenie looks immensely concerned.

“Right,” Newt says, shaking his head, “no, you’re right, it’s quite alright, fine.”

 _“Reparo,”_ Corey says; the mug and saucer fuse back together. He siphons up the hot chocolate, does something with his wand to remove the stains from Sophia’s skirt, and gets to his feet, hands on hips. “Everything okay now?”

“We are _so_ sorry,” Tina apologizes.

He smiles. “Oh, it’s no worry. I have two toddlers, this is a piece of cake compared to them.”

“Yes, Sophie is considerably similar to a toddler,” Newt quips. Tina steps on his foot.

“What grade are you in?” Corey asks Sophia. Newt has to stifle a snort.

She looks at the store owner, nostrils subtly flared, then says as politely as possible, “I’m 20.”

“Oh. Oh! That’s — wonderful! When did you — so you graduated —”

“1925,” she says, arms crossed.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean —”

“It’s fine, I get it all the time,” she replies.

“Tremendous,” Newt says after an awkward pause. They still have an audience, too. “I must say, this was not quite what I had in mind when Tina said we were going to American Hogsmeade.”

 _“American Hogsmeade,”_ one girl whispers audibly to a friend, who squeals, “That is _so_ cute, he’s so —”

“We should leave,” Tina announces firmly, standing up. “Is there anything we can do for you, Mr…?”

“Watkins,” Corey says. “No, no, it’s fine. I can give you a complimentary cup of coffee —”

“No, we’ll be just fine,” Newt says, also getting to his feet. He’s followed by Jacob, Queenie, and Sophia.

“Mr. Scamander!” a young woman says breathlessly.

“Er… yes?”

“Can you — I can’t come to your book signing tomorrow, would you mind —”

He leans his ear closer, waiting for her to say something else. “Sorry, would I mind what?” he asks.

“Could you — could I have your autograph?”

“Ah… of course,” he says. “Do you have a pen?”

She hands him one, then waits expectantly.

“Where’s your book?” he asks, confused.

She holds out her arm. “You can just — just sign it there.”

“I, erm… I usually sign books, see…”

“Please, Mr. Scamander?”

Very gingerly, he scribbles his signature on her arm and hands back the pen, avoiding eye contact.

“Thank you,” she says, and tries to hug him, but Sophia drags him out of the way just in time.

“And _now_ we’re officially leaving,” Tina tells the entire shop.

“Goodbye,” Newt says with a wave, and follows his friends outside.

* * *

 “I don’t want to hear it,” Tina tells the both of them once they get back to the hotel.

“Yeah, it worked out, didn’t it? I didn’t know my first time in this place would be like _that,_ but I can’t really expect anything different from you people anyways,” Jacob contributes.

“I’m sorry, Sophia,” Newt says sincerely.

She narrows her eyes at him.

“No, truly, I am. I didn’t intend for that to happen.”

She doesn’t say anything.

“It was only that you’ve been awfully… distracting,” he explains terribly.

She raises an eyebrow.

“I was — I was frustrated, that’s all, and I was just joking around —”

“Yeah, tell it to Sweeney,” she mutters.

“I really am sorry. Really.”

She’s still glaring. Queenie, Jacob, and Tina are standing off to the side like paramedics braced to interfere should things get out of hand.

“Soph…” he says, then has a brilliant idea. Taking a few steps forward, he wraps his arms around her in a hug. She fights him off at first, but finally gives up after his lanky frame and height win out.

“That was mean, admit it,” she says into his shirt.

“It was a bit more _forceful_ than necessary,” he admits.

“A _bit?_ You broke half the shop —”

“I did not! Only two things broke, and they were —”

“Okay, Mr. ‘I never embarrass myself spectacularly.’”

He pulls away to shoot her an indignant look, but she clings back onto him like some sort of pesky barnacle.

“I’ll forgive you if you try the American candy,” she says.

“Very well,” he agrees. He isn’t quite sure what he’s getting himself into, but how bad can it be?

* * *

Half an hour later, when his head turns into a sailboat, he reconsiders.

* * *

In the end, their squabble is reconciled, leading to a very pleasant evening between all five members of their “motley crew,” as Theseus had dubbed them. They enjoy a dinner at The Mighty Oak, then ice cream from The Frosty Finger. Queenie and Jacob are still basking in the fact that they don’t have to hide anymore and retire early, leaving Newt, Tina, and Sophia in the women’s shared room. They sit on the floor and play a few games of Exploding Snap; both Newt and Sophia have learned to move quickly due to the nature of their work and triumph over Tina, who looks very miffed until Newt purposefully loses the next round and jinxes Sophia so that she drops the card she was holding, causing it to explode on the floor.

“I didn’t know you were such a sore loser, Miss Goldstein,” he tells Tina once she’s won. She looks at him in that _way_ he can’t describe, but it always makes him feel warm and belonging and almost as though he’s something special, as though he matters a great deal.

“I’m not a sore loser,” she says defensively. “I just… don’t like to lose.”

Newt can’t help but laugh and then just _smile_ at her for what turns out to be much longer than intended. “Cartoon hearts,” Sophia sings once he’s come to, thanks to a card exploding inches from his nose (which, of course, his assistant had _nothing_ to do with).

“Oh, sod off,” he retorts, though he moves just a smidge closer to Tina. Then, recalling his exchange with Theseus earlier, he announces that they’re leaving on Thursday. “Which,” he says, looking accusatorily at Tina, “Theseus also informed me was three days from today, after Wednesday.”

She tries to appear innocent. “Oh.”

“You didn’t perchance tell him I needed days of the week explained to me again?” Newt asks facetiously.

“Me? Never,” she says, and scoots closer to him.

“You guys are disgusting,” Sophia tells them. “Are you sure you don’t want to switch rooms, Newt?”

He _does,_ but he also knows it wouldn’t be very proper, and he doesn’t want to risk Tina’s reputation. Of course, he couldn’t care less about his, but he’s come to understand that many of the things that affect him seem to somehow affect her. And so, although he may be reckless with his own life, for _her_ sake he keeps on his Best Behavior. “No thank you,” he says, though he closes the gap and puts his arm around her shoulders.

“You could if you wanted,” Tina says, leaning into his side.

“N-no, no, I… I wouldn’t want to be impolite.”

She raises an eyebrow skeptically. “Newt. We’ve slept in the same room for a month.”

“People already think you’re married,” Sophia reminds them.

They do, and it still makes Newt supremely uncomfortable. Every time such an assumption is made, it only reminds him that they _aren’t_ married or even engaged. It’s far too soon still, but if she wanted to marry him right here and now, he would have absolutely no qualms. Pretending to be close enough of a couple to share a room at a hotel… it bothers him, because it only makes him remember that they aren’t.

“Better not,” he speaks up, avoiding Tina’s gaze.

“Oh, okay,” she says flatly.

 _Merlin’s beard._ “It’s not that I don’t want to,” he hurriedly tries to explain, “it just doesn’t seem quite… appropriate, and I’m… I’m rather knackered,” he embellishes wildly, “and — er — I don’t —”

“It’s fine, Newt,” she says. “No, really, I understand.”

 _But you understand for the wrong reason._ “Alright,” he says after a pause. “I should be getting ready, then…”

Sophia is looking appalled at the trainwreck unfolding before her; her gaze flickers between the two, but mercifully — or not — she keeps her mouth shut.

Right. Okay. This is — this is fine. “Goodnight, Tina,” he says, getting to his feet. He stops, his back to her, then shakes his head slightly. If she’s going to be upset with him, it would be best advised to stay away until she moves on. Probably. He glances back; Sophia is jerking her head towards Tina urgently (it looks like she’s having a seizure of some sort), then mouths, _Kiss her!_

He shakes his head, not wanting to be rejected or, worse, to be _forcing_ himself upon his girlfriend, and goes to his own room. Alone, he doesn’t fall asleep until very late, and even then he only tosses and turns, dozing intermittently. Every time he wakes, he jerks and looks for Tina, then remembers that she’s angry with him and separated by a wall.

His heart sinks and he closes his eyes, counting down the seconds until it’s morning again.

* * *

Sophia, as expected, opens her mouth the second Newt’s left.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Tina says wearily.

“No, no that’s not an option. Listen to me. Whatever you think is happening, isn’t. I swear. He likes you, he likes you a lot, he’s just being an idiot about it.”

“Did you see how panicked he looked? Sophia, he didn’t want to sleep with me. In the same room,” she corrects herself hastily.

“No, he definitely did. He…” She falters.

“Go on,” Tina says.

“D’you really want me to translate for you?”

“You’re always right, aren’t you?”

“That’s true. Fine. Well, I’m pretty sure that _this_ time it’s just that… okay, do you notice how he looks every time we joke about you guys being married or engaged? He _always_ looks panicked, and it ain’t ‘cause he doesn’t like you. It’s because he _does,_ enough to _actually_ marry you and sleep in the same bed, and I think that gives him the heebie-jeebies a little. He’s just running away because that’s his coping mechanism — you can’t really complain, you’re one to talk — and it’s like… it’s like the guy, with the sun, and the wax wings. I mean, totally different, ‘cause this isn’t about the same issue, _but_ you’re the sun, Tina, and he’s got fragile little wax wings and he’s scared that if he lets himself get too close, they’ll melt and he’ll lose you. There. That was a good analogy.” She pauses. “Icarus, that’s the guy.”

Tina mulls this over. “You don’t think I scared him off?”

Sophia scoffs. “Please. You could never scare him off. He just scares him _self_ off sometimes.”

“What do I do now?”

“You go back to what you and me and Queenie discussed, and you act normal. Don’t go barging into his room, he needs to be all angsty and sulky and miss you, but tomorrow morning pretend like your weird misunderstanding thing never happened. Y’know, I always learned that with creatures — little kids too, I guess, but same diff — _your_ reaction sets the tone, right? So, like, if there’s a mooncalf that gets hurt, if you start panicking and crying and making it a whole big deal, it will too. But if you _don’t,_ and you act totally calm and fine and stuff, it won’t do that.

“Well, I guess Newt’s just an injured mooncalf at heart. If you act normal, _he’ll_ probably act normal too, or at least _try._ He’s just insecure and awkward and he needs way more reassurance than he should, but we’re goin’ for baby steps here. So just let it be, and get some sleep. Life goes on, Teen,” she says as she climbs into her bed. “Really, it does.”

Tina yawns and pulls her covers up. “I know. He’s just so… maddening, sometimes.”

“He made me flip over a chair in a cafe, shatter a bunch of tableware, and spill hot chocolate everywhere today. You don’t need to tell me.”

“I’m glad you forgave him, by the way,” Tina says quietly.

Sophia nods. “I do honestly love him, you know.”

“I know,” Tina says, sighing. “Me too.”

Sophia jolts up in bed. “Oh my god!” she all but yells. “You admitted it! You love him!”

Horrified, Tina jumps up as well. “Shh,” she hisses viciously, “he’s _right_ next door.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Sophia lies back down. “But really, jeepers creepers, Tina, I’m so happy.”

“Newt _cannot_ find out,” Tina says fiercely.

“I mean, we already tell both of you that you love each other.”

Tina rubs a hand over her face. “Oh, Mercy Lewis.”

Sophia beams. “Sorry. I’m just so happy that you finally came out and said it.”

“It’s only been a month.”

“Yeah, so maybe you don’t _love_ love him, but I think you’re gonna. You know what I mean? Like… even if you don’t _totally_ love him you can’t really see yourself liking him _less,_ can you?” Tina shakes her head vehemently. “Swell. That’s what I mean. Even if you just like him _a lot_ now, you’re falling in love with him.”

Sophia has a point. Tina yawns again. _Act normal,_ she tells herself sternly as Sophia extinguishes the lights. _Act. Normal._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for making it end like that, but don't worry, they'll make amends in the morning, and then a whole lot is gonna go down!


	34. I'd fly to the arms of my poor darlin' and there I'd be willing to die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we have ourselves a major situation.
> 
> Newt sees her reach for her wand at the same time as her interrogator. Her name catches in his throat as twin bolts of lightning erupt from their wand tips; the man ducks, but the other one hits Tina right in the chest. Her eyes widen, she gives a little “oh,” and collapses.
> 
> Chapter title from “The Prisoner’s Song” by Vernon Dalhart (1924)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here... we... GOOOO!

_Week 4, Tuesday_

Thankfully, everything seems to have smoothed over by morning. It’s a lovely sunny day, the complimentary food at the inn is almost as good as Jacob’s cooking, and it’s as though their uncomfortable misunderstanding last night never happened.

“You can’t imagine my relief,” Newt says to Tina as they walk to his last book signing. Sophia hung back, wanting to stop by Plymouth Potions to restock their workshop a bit, and agreed to join them later. “This is the _last_ time I have to do this, ever again.”

Tina grins. “Well, I _may_ have mentioned something to Flourish and Blotts about a book signing when we’re there.”

“You didn’t!”

“Sorry, babe,” she says, not looking sorry at all. _Babe._ Ever since she called him “darling” the other day he's been secretly hoping for a repeat, any term of endearment, and he’s more than content with “babe.”

“It’s fine,” he sighs, tripping over a cobblestone. “I’ll suffer through this if it means money for —” He stops himself, remembering that he still hasn’t mentioned that he plans to travel to Territory of New Guinea. They’ll have to discuss _that_ after today.

Tina raises an eyebrow, looking amused. “For what?”

“Nothing. Did I say something?”

Before Tina can respond, Graham Woodcroft — an Auror — Apparates in front of them, then grabs both her and Newt by the elbow and drags them into a nearby alleyway.

“We got a tip-off,” he says urgently. “One of Grindelwald’s guys is here.”

 _“Here?”_ Tina hisses.

He nods. “You think you can take him into custody? There’s been an emergency in New Orleans, a whole bunch of young wizards miscalculated and Apparated straight into the center of a parade. One of ‘em got Splinched, to boot, and now we got half the state as witnesses.” Tina grimaces. “Yeah. Me, Demetrius, Pollux, and Owen are going there right now. There could be something more to it… someone trying to expose us.” He clenches his jaw, then looks at Tina again bleakly. “Shouldn’t be too hard with this guy, he’s on his own and off his guard.”

“Okay,” she says intently, leaning in. “Do you have a name? Description? Anything?”

“Benson’s his last name, we don’t know his first. I was told that he’s short, mousy, balding, and has a hippogriff tattoo on the side of his neck. Can’t miss him.”

“What do you need me to do?”

“You’re going to the A.Q.?” he asks.

“The what?” Newt questions.

“Arcadian Quill.” Tina says it offhandedly, without even looking at him. As though he's just a bother. “Yeah, Newt’s got a book signing.”

Graham looks right past him too. “He’ll be lingering in the cellar, waiting to meet someone. If you can get him out of there in time, the rest of us can take care of his crony. You know Hugh, Hugh Fenwick? You’ve probably seen him around — tall guy, red hair, freckles. He kinda looks like him,” and he points at Newt, who feels very disgruntled.

“Yeah, I know who you’re talking about.”

“He’s waiting undercover, he’ll let you know when Benson’s here. He doesn’t have clearance, he’s in training, but desperate times, you know — anyway, he’ll watch the door for ya.”

“Y-you know, I could —” Newt starts to suggest, but Graham cuts him off.

“Remember the protocol, Goldstein?”

“Yessir.”

“No getting yourself into trouble?”

Tina laughs. Newt stews. “I promise.”

“Good. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

“Okay,” Tina nods, adjusting her coat.

“Thank you.” Graham pauses, then gives her a quick hug, pulling away with his hands on her shoulders to look her earnestly in the eye. Newt coughs loudly. “You’ll do great, Goldstein. We’re counting on you.”

Tina smiles. “Thanks, Graham.”

He winks at her, then Disapparates.

“C’mon,” Tina says, gesturing to Newt and apparently not picking up on his expression. “We’ll be late.”

“Who was that?”

“Graham. He was one of my first friends at work. We joked about him being my bodyguard, because he’s so strong. He’s a great Auror.” She smiles fondly, and Newt feels even worse.

“Oh,” he says as she opens the door for him. Immediately, flashbulbs start exploding, enchanted quills start scribbling, and girls start screaming.

“I’ll be over here,” Tina says, kissing him on the cheek before melting into the crowd. The kiss makes him feel a bit better, and once he gets started with his well-practiced speech, he remembers how very much he enjoys this part of his job — getting to talk to people who are actually interested in the subject matter and not in snogging him.

After he steps off the stage, he mills around the room shaking hands, signing autographs, and taking photographs with Very Important People (he doesn’t remember any of their names). He’s even gotten better at fake smiling, under the tutelage of Sophia, who’s been tremendously helpful at managing all of this.

Graham, though... the Auror won’t leave his mind. Tina looked at him so warmly and spoke of him so proudly, it was as though Newt no longer existed. As though she’d seen a better option and cast the old one away. The lump in his throat is making it increasingly difficult to shake hands with a new person every minute, and when he can take it no more he excuses himself to a disappointed reader. Seeking out the side exit, he goes to stand in the hallway and leans against the wall to try to pull himself together. This is absurd. Ridiculous. But it’s real, the palpable fear coming true before his eyes, that Tina will find someone better than him. Even if it’s not Graham, it will be someone else.

“Newt?” Tina stands before him, looking both concerned and exasperated. “You only have another 45 minutes and then we can head back, I promise, but this is _really_ important — you okay?” she asks suddenly, reading his body language. Of course she can tell. No matter how well-practiced he gets at Keeping Up Appearances, she’ll always be able to tell.

“Fine, just fine,” he lies.

Her brow creases. “No, you’re not. Hey. Look at me. What’s wrong? I can go out there and tell them you need a break, they won’t mind —”

“Are you and Graham close?”

“Graham?” She looks puzzled, then comprehension dawns. “Oh, Newt, no, it’s nothing like that. He’s just a friend.”

“He seemed rather more friendly than he needed to be.”

“He always does that, the hugging and the winking.” She shrugs. “But he’s just a friend. I swear. Okay?”

“Mm.”

“You’re not convinced.” When he neither confirms nor denies it, she rolls her eyes and groans. “Newt, don’t do this.”

“It shouldn’t bother me, and I’m sorry it does,” he says, speaking to her earlobe. “It’s only that he fights dark wizards, and he’s not the least bit awkward, and he works with you all the time, and you've known him so much longer.”

“Yeah, but he’s not _you.”_

“I suppose,” he says glumly.

“Oh, for crying out —” Glancing around to make sure they’re alone, Tina leans forward and kisses him soundly. When she pulls away, and he opens his eyes slowly, she does the same thing she did that time in the kitchen, drawing her thumb along his bottom lip. She hesitates, gazing at him, and then kisses him once again, a little longer and less chastely this time, before firmly stepping away. “You convinced now?”

“I think you may very well be the end of me,” he says weakly.

“Then we know it’s a good end. C’mon,” she jerks her head at the entrance, “let’s finish strong.”

He pushes himself off the wall with a deep sigh. “I didn’t think I’d be the jealous type,” he mutters as she opens the door.

“See? Doesn’t feel so good, does it,” she teases him.

“I have to say, I did find your response quite compelling. Perhaps I ought to be insecure more often,” he pipes up. She swats his arm, both laughing, and together they make their way back into the total madness that is their life.

* * *

Every so often these days — when the crowd gets a bit intense or he’s starting to reach his limit of smiling and nodding — Newt finds himself anxiously doing a Tina Check, just to make sure she’s still there, still with him. Sometimes she catches him and smiles; most of the time she’s deep in conversation with someone else, or otherwise occupied. As he glances around and spots her speaking to a cluster of Ilvermorny students, he feels a swell of pride. _That’s my girlfriend._

With half an hour left on the clock, he finds himself in conversation with a jovial veteran zoologist, name of Francis Cinderford, who lived in Equatorial Guinea for years. Eager to compare findings, he barely acknowledges Tina when she comes over to him and whispers, “I’ll be right back.”

“Your wife’s an Auror, yes? I recognize her from the news,” Francis says after she walks away.

“Yes,” Newt responds immediately, puffing up with pride, “and she was instrumental during the events last year.”

“So I heard, so I heard.” Francis smiles. “It’s always nice to see young love in dark times like these. When did you get married?”

Newt blinks. “When did we — sorry, what?”

“You and Mrs. Scamander. When was your wedding? If it was quite recent, I would’ve expected it to have made headlines, between your impressive success and her importance to MACUSA.”

 _Oh, no. No, no, no. Merlin’s —_ “Oh, sorry, no, we aren’t actually m-married,” Newt stammers, turning red. “I didn’t hear the question right. I thought — I thought you said something else.”

Francis looks at him with a little twinkle in his eye. “‘Wife’ and ‘girlfriend’ don’t sound very similar,” he points out. “Perhaps that should tell you something.”

Newt scratches his ear, phenomenally uncomfortable. “Yes.”

The older man pats him on the back. “Don’t worry. I won’t say another word.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a dog-eared sketchbook. “I thought you might have interest in reviewing some of my older notes… of course, you’ll be familiar with many of them, but I brought the ones that weren’t included in your book.”

Shaking off the discomfort of his latest faux pas, Newt’s eyes widen as he flips through the sketchbook. “These are brilliant,” he breathes, and they spend the next several minutes discussing all of Francis’s travels and discoveries. “You wouldn’t mind — er — possibly… could I perhaps interview you, sometime, for a future manuscript?” he asks after Francis concludes his synopsis.

“Of course! I’d be honored to be featured in the writings of such a promising magizoologist as yourself. Is it true that you’ll be traveling in the coming months?”

“I believe so,” Newt replies. “We’ve Tina’s schedule to work around, as I’d like her to come along, and Theseus and Mum have some concerns about us leaving home after the attacks in France, but there’s a great deal I’d like to explore and haven’t yet.”

“Excellent, excellent. Godspeed, then.” Francis glances at his pocketwatch. “I’d better head out, if I can maneuver my way around all these young women, but please keep in touch.”

Newt shakes his hand. “Absolutely, sir.”

“And Newt?” Newt looks up. Francis points a finger sternly in his direction. “I’ll be waiting to hear wedding bells, young man.” Then he doffs his hat, and disappears into the crowd.

It hits Newt all of a sudden that Tina’s been gone an awfully long time. He was so caught up in conversation… oh, this is bad. His anxiety increasing, he bumps into someone as he tries to make his way to the back of the shop. It turns out to be a young Newtie, whose eyes go wide as saucers. “Mr. Scamander,” she says breathlessly.

“Hello,” he says nervously.

“If you — did you — would you —”

He watches, unsure what to do as her lips move and no words come out. “Are you alright?” he asks, fear mounting as he imagines what could have happened to his girlfriend.

“Y-yes, I — I — would you mind just —” She hands him a copy of his book timidly, along with a pencil. “Please.”

He scribbles something on the girl’s book, then hurries away, towards the side door. There’s a sign indicating a stairwell at the end of the hallway, which he races over to, yanking the door open and taking the steps two at a time. When he gets to the bottom, he freezes. That Hugh bloke is nowhere to be found, although from what he can only hastily discern, there are slight traces that could potentially hint at a struggle. What’s worse is what he hears next.

“Leave me alone,” Tina says in a voice that’s trying to be strong. He tiptoes slowly to the door and peeks through the crack. A hooded man is standing with his back to Newt.

“You know Grindelwald,” he insists, towering over her.

“I don't,” she replies fiercely, keeping her ground in the way only she can.

“Where is he?”

“I. Don’t. KNOW.”

He grabs her by the collar; she flinches and Newt’s heart flies into his throat. _"Liar."_ _  
_

“I wouldn't do that if I were you, Mr. Marzot,” she warns, and though her voice is steady her eyes are tinged with fear. “If you would only —” Newt sees her reach for her wand at the same time as her interrogator. Her name catches in his throat as twin bolts of lightning erupt from their wand tips; the man ducks, but the other one hits Tina right in the chest. Her eyes widen, she gives a little “oh,” and collapses.

“Useless,” the man mutters, and turns to leave her there.

Every fiber in Newt’s body is _screaming_ with fury. Before he has the sense to grab his own wand and fire back, he kicks down the door, seizes this Mr. Marzot by the collar, and punches him, hard, in the face.

“What the —” Mr. Marzot roars, hands flying to his face. He's a good four inches taller than Newt, and significantly more hefty, but even so Newt is fairly certain he managed to break his nose. The man’s fingers comes away spotted with blood. _Good._ “You little —”

Newt is a calm, peaceful man who has never openly dueled someone with the intent of injuring — no, seriously _incapacitating —_ them. He’s fought for his beasts, of course, just enough to make a quick getaway. But his whole world is crumpled in the corner, eyelids fluttering, and this is the person who has put her there.

Mr. Marzot lifts his wand. Prepared, Newt goes on the offensive. He's decently skilled with his wand (well, other than in the kitchen); practice duels with Theseus and real ones with a few traffickers on the fields have kept his skills sharp enough to put up a good fight.

This mysterious man is equally as talented, however, and Newt’s mind is racing. He opens his mouth; Mr. Marzot takes advantage of the momentary distraction and narrowly misses him. “If you call somebody, I kill her,” he snarls.

His mind. His _mind._ Yes, how could he have forgotten? Queenie and Jacob _must_ be here by now; they said they’d come by after they had a late breakfast. _Queenie, listen to me,_ he thinks desperately. _We’re in the cellar of The Arcadian Quill. There’s a man who hit Tina with a spell, I don't know what, but she's unconscious. Please hurry._

The duel continues, Newt’s panic rising and sweat beading on his forehead. His anger is the only thing that keeps him going, keeps him on his toes. He watches Mr. Marzot’s gaze move to a heavy desk sitting in the corner. Before the other man can do anything, Newt points his wand and directs it not at his adversary, but at the wall, where it collides with an enormous crash, cracking it in places and sending plaster dust everywhere. _Queenie, please._ He's getting exhausted, running out of spells, and still nobody has run downstairs as he hoped they might. _Hurry, hurry, hurry._

“What, you can't take it, little English guy?” Mr. Marzot mocks him. “You can't take _that?”_

Newt deflects the hex, unable to fire one back in time. “Who are you?” he pants.

“What does it matter to you?”

“You've just done _that_ to my girlfriend,” Newt replies through gritted teeth, gesturing at Tina, “and I’d like to know your name. It doesn't strike me as an unreasonable request.”

“Phillip Marzot,” the man grunts.

“You asked her about Grindelwald. Why?”

They start circling each other. “I heard about the Obscurus that was here last year. Heard Grindelwald was involved.”

“And your connection to Grindelwald?”

“He’s going to help me avenge my daughter’s death,” says Phillip shortly.

After quickly sizing him up, Newt decides that this man isn’t terribly intelligent, more desperate than anything: perhaps a persuasion tactic is called for. “Mr. Marzot, there are ways to do so without siding with the darkest wizard the world has ever seen. You don't need mass genocide to avenge her —”

“I do,” Phillip interrupts, his voice unsteady. “He said he would help.”

“Help what?”

“Help avenge her.”

“Who killed her?” Newt asks quietly. If he can just reach Tina and Disapparate…

Phillip’s face darkens. “Aurors.”

Oh, bugger. Newt swallows. “O-oh,” he stammers. “I'm so sorry.”

“They were supposed to keep her safe. They were supposed to protect her. She wasn't right in the mind, see, and I knew she might be in danger.” His wand hand is shaking, knuckles white. “You don't understand.”

“I don't,” Newt agrees cautiously, “but if you lay down your wand, I might be able to. We can help you, Mr. Marzot. You can't trust Grindelwald.”

“I can,” and something gleams in his eyes, something that sends panic coursing through Newt’s veins. Phillip… he's unstable. Vulnerable. Volatile. Just like Credence had been. Only this man is on a mission.

Newt keeps his voice as steady as possible. “I know it must be very terrible, but I promise that if you just listen to me, I can help you. You _can’t_ trust that man.”

Phillip is shaking, the expression on his face that of a madman — or perhaps a man who’s been hurt so devastatingly that he’s lost his mind. “I. Can. Grindelwald knows what he’s doing.”

“You can't…” Newt says softly, and then Phillip spins around and yells, “ _Crucio!_ ” Newt jumps to the side; when working with creatures who move at lightning speed, his reflexes are at least sharp enough to notice the slightest anticipatory twitch. But he's next to Tina now, pressed against the wall, and Phillip is advancing, looking straight at Newt and deliberately pointing his wand at the unconscious Auror.

“Please don't,” he whispers, then raises his voice, pleading. “Not Tina. Please not Tina —”

 _“Avada —”_ Newt throws himself in front of Tina, but Phillip never gets to finish.

 _“Expelliarmus!”_ someone bellows from the entrance then, and he peers past Phillip. Seraphina Picquery stands in the doorway, holding Phillip's wand in her hand and looking more dangerous and fearsome than Newt has ever seen. She's followed by Queenie, who’s pale and trembling, and Jacob, who looks stunned. _Thank you._

“Mr. Phillip Alistair Marzot,” she says, flicking her wand, “you are under arrest.”

A trio of grim-faced Aurors march into the room, grabbing him none too gently and shackling his wrists. Right before they Disapparate, he looks straight at Newt and snarls, _“She_ will hear about this.”

Newt, who can barely hear anything over the roaring in his ears, drops to his knees beside Tina. _“Tina,”_ he says urgently, gripping her wrist to make sure she still has a pulse. “Tina!”

“Oh, Mercy Lewis,” Queenie murmurs, hurrying over to join him. “This'll be dark magic. Here, can you get her?”

Newt lifts her off the ground, cradling her against his chest. “Tina, please,” he begs, when her head only lolls to the side.

“What happened? Who _was_ that guy?” Jacob asks, looking beyond confused. “What’s wrong with Tina?”

“Let’s just go,” Queenie says. Before she can grab hold and Disapparate, Madam Picquery walks over. She motions for Newt to put Tina down, then crouches quietly next to the Auror. She’s silent as she gazes intently into Tina’s face, seeing something that none of the others can see.

“It is a sad day when an Auror is the victim of such a crime,” she finally says gravely, getting to her feet. “Tina has served us well. If you would like, we can transfer her to Panacea.” She looks at Newt, who looks at Queenie, who looks back at Newt expectantly.

“What?” he asks.

Madam Picquery sighs. “Mr. Scamander, despite the fact that you have yet to do anything about it, I daresay we all agree that you are Porpentina’s next of kin.”

Oh. “Sorry, Pana-what?”

“It’s the American hospital.”

“If she’s taken to hospital, it has to be St. Mungo’s,” he says immediately.

Madam Picquery looks grim. “I’m afraid we may not have much choice. Magic such as this can spread quickly. We know this man was capable of killing, and his curse will not be easy to remove. Hugh Fenwick, whom Mr. Marzot attacked prior to Tina, is currently in critical condition at Panacea.”

“I can do it,” Queenie says suddenly. She’s been gripping Tina’s hands, a look of immense concentration on her face. “I can do it.”

The President smiles. “I have no doubt. Mr. Scamander, I presume you will not object to this plan?” He shakes his head; of course not. Madam Picquery gives a curt nod. “Please alert us of any changes in Miss Goldstein’s status.”

“Thank you,” Queenie replies. The President wordlessly rests her hand heavily on Newt’s shoulder, as though bracing him for what lies ahead, then sweeps out of the room. Queenie takes a deep breath. “You ready?” she asks. Newt lifts Tina again, and allows Queenie to loop her arm through his. “Here goes nothing,” she says quietly, and with a crack, the cellar (which looks as though a cyclone hit it) is empty once more.


	35. There is no one else but you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Queenie is a BAMF, and Newt is a man in love. TW for torture (nothing worse than what was written in the Harry Potter books).
> 
> Queenie is pale. “Newt, I’m going to have to hurt her. She won’t be in danger, okay?"
> 
> He grips Tina’s hand, crushing her fingers in his. “Okay,” he whispers.
> 
> “It’s gonna be torture,” she says quietly. 
> 
> Chapter title from “All Alone” by Irving Berlin (1924)

At the apartment, Queenie instructs Newt to place Tina on the couch. His grip tightens imperceptibly around her, loath as he is to break contact for any reason.

“It's alright, you can still hold her hand, okay? But I need you to put her down, Newt,” Queenie says. “Please.”

He does so, carefully arranging his girlfriend on the sofa like a rag doll, then flashes back to the first time he tucked her in and blinks back tears. Queenie’s rolled up her sleeves, wand in hand. “Baby,” she says, still sizing her sister up, “could you get my medicine kit? It's the leather under the bed.”

“Sure thing, doll,” Jacob replies immediately, getting up.

“What happened?” she asks Newt, and begins drawing her wand slowly over Tina’s body. Newt fills her in. “I tried to listen, but I could just feel the fear, I couldn't make out the thoughts themselves. Oh, Teenie.” She smooths a hand across her sister’s forehead.

“Is she — d’you think she's in pain?” Newt asks, and his voice cracks pitifully.

“No, she's not,” Queenie answers softly, then falters. “But she might have to be.”

Newt balks. “What do you mean?”

“I think I know how to fix this, but it's gonna hurt. I have to split the curse from her soul — it's complicated.”

“You've done this before,” Newt realizes.

She gives a sad smile. “Well, she got into plenty of situations when we was younger and she was practicing to be an Auror. You know how desperate she is to prove herself. I ain’t never done this kind of Healing before, though. I’ve just read about it. I'm gonna try some other things first.”

Jacob returns with the leather satchel; Queenie unzips it immediately and starts removing ingredients.

“Can you make a potion?” Newt asks, gazing at Tina's face and stroking the back of her hand with his thumb.

“No, it's more complicated. You can't learn it, really. These are just ingredients.” She looks at him, face drawn. “I'll need to hurry, though.”

“Oh.” It doesn't particularly make any sense, but if he's going to trust Tina's life in somebody’s hands, it's going to be her sister.

“You're sweet,” says Queenie, digging around in the leather kit.

“Is it bad?” he murmurs. He presses Tina’s hand to his face and has to fight back tears when her fingers go slack.

“Yes,” Queenie admits, looking haggard as she removes vials and slits open packets of herbs and tablets.

“Why aren't you a Healer?” he asks, noting her adeptness.

“I thought about it, but I'm not cut out for that, especially with my Legilimency.”

“Oh.” He places his hand over Tina’s heart, finding reassurance in the steady beating, and holds.

“Are _you_ okay?” Jacob thinks to ask, peering at Newt’s face. “You were in it pretty bad too. I ain’t saying you’re worse off than Tina, but you might wanna go lie down somewhere.”

Queenie looks up from where she’s doing something with her wand. “We’ll call you if anything changes,” she offers.

“No, I think I’d rather stay right here,” Newt insists.

“Okay, honey. Just don’t get in the way.”

“I would never dream of it,” he yawns, finding Tina’s heartbeat again.

Queenie’s head snaps up all of a sudden. “Newt.”

“Yeah?” How late is it? It must be very late.

“He tried to kill her. You jumped in front of her.”

“Er… yes.”

“You were ready to… die? For her?”

“I…” Didn't he say this from the start, that he would take an Unforgivable Curse for her any day?

Queenie leans over and envelops him in a hug. “Thank you.” Her voice trembles.

“Attaboy,” Jacob puts in, clapping him on the shoulder. “That’s how you treat a lady.”

Queenie’s eyes are brimming with tears. “I take back what I said that time. She's not too good for you.”

“Mm.” Newt’s head is going a bit groggy. “I rather think she is.”

Jacob nods towards Newt. “Poor guy’s exhausted,” he says, and joins Queenie on the rug. She buries her head in his neck for a moment, his broad hand gently rubbing circles on her back. “Hey, it's gonna be fine. If you ain't the smartest woman I know… sorry, Newt.”

“I'm sure you're very smart too,” he mumbles to Queenie.

The Legilimens sighs, pushes herself off her fiancé, and picks up her wand, leaning over her sister again.

Newt watches blearily. “You know, I _am_ a bit knackered, I think I might…” He never finishes his sentence, because just as the words leave his mouth, sheer exhaustion takes over and he falls forward, head on Tina’s chest.

“Is he okay?” Jacob asks in alarm. Queenie checks his pulse, listens to his thoughts — calmer, more intermittent and abstract in his slumber, but very much there — and nods.

“Alright. Alright,” repeats Jacob, leaning back on the couch. “Okay.”

“She’ll be alright,” Queenie whispers as she focuses hard on Tina’s thoughts, which are hazy and barely there. “She has to. She just has to.”

* * *

Newt wakes half an hour later. He’s been moved rather unceremoniously to the floor, which he registers with vague annoyance, before realizing that he’s also been moved away from Tina.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Queenie says when he rushes over.

“Is she…?”

“Not yet. I tried a few things, but I — I think I’m going to have to do it.”

“The splitting her soul thingy?” Jacob asks in horror.

“No, not that.” Queenie looks alarmed. “That’s _completely_ different. When a curse binds itself to the target, and it’s this dark — and I don’t know what he did, either — it can take hold.”

“You don’t know what curse he used?” Newt asks, trying not to sound accusatory. It’s not like _he’s_ being any help here.

Queenie bites her lip.  “No. I can pick up on these things, sometimes. Spells usually leave an echo, kinda like a whisper, and if I focus real hard I can hear ‘em. Not this, though.”

“So now what?” Jacob asks in a hushed voice.

Queenie is pale. “Newt, I’m going to have to hurt her. She won’t be in danger, okay?”

He grips Tina’s hand, crushing her fingers in his. “Okay,” he whispers.

“I know you don’t want to see her like this, but this is the only way to save her. She’s not really hurt. She’s alive, she’s okay. It’s just gonna be pain. It’s gonna be...” She goes white. “It’s gonna be torture,” she says quietly. “It’s like the Cruciatus Curse, it’s… it’s to try and put off anyone trying to Heal the victim.”

He swallows, hard.

“D’you want me to get anyone?” Jacob asks. “Sophia, maybe?”

 _Sophia._ He wants to see her, wants her to tell him he's being an idiot and everything will be fine, but it isn't right to involve her in something such as this when she's still relatively young. Queenie nods in agreement with his thoughts. “Thank you, Jacob,” Newt says.

“Now, it's going to be slow,” Queenie says, trying to keep her voice steady. “She's gonna act like she's waking up. Then it'll start, the pain, and it'll get worse and worse until the curse is separated. Okay?”

“Okay,” he repeats, unable to tear his gaze away from Tina.

“Okay,” Queenie echoes, and lifts up her wand.

* * *

Jacob is a simple guy. He knows this. He loves who he loves, he's easygoing, he likes a good time, and he'll do whatever he can for anything and anyone he believes in. He loves Queenie, he loves Tina, and he loves Newt. Heck, he even loves Sophia, that crazy little thing.

Now, he's at a loss. This magic stuff, it's out of his depth. Queenie is getting ready to torture her sister, and Newt is getting ready to watch and be powerless to stop it. The guy loves that woman more than life itself — was ready to die for her. And the same possibility is plaguing everyone: that this might not work. That Tina might not make it. That, even worse, all the pain will end in…

“It's gonna be okay,” he says firmly, gripping each around the nape of the neck to ground them. “Newt, it's gonna be fine, okay? She's gonna be okay. Queenie's gonna fix it, yeah?” For some awful reason, his voice cracks on the last syllable, and he has to blink back tears. The look on Newt’s face is tormented and terrified. Jacob can't imagine how he’d feel if it were Queenie lying on the couch.

His fiancée closes her eyes, whispering a prayer. Then she turns to Jacob, dread in her eyes, and throws her arms around him.

“I don't want to do it,” she gasps against his shoulder.

“We can do it at that other place,” he says. “I'll go with you, the saint place Newt said.”

“It's in England,” Newt and Queenie say simultaneously.

“Yeah, but don't you guys have stuff, magic things to travel with?”

“It's too late,” Queenie whispers.

His heart sinks. “Oh.”

She leans over and kisses him. “Thank you.” Then she looks at Newt. “We better put a Muffling charm around here,” she says quietly. When he doesn't move, she says, “You can do it from there. She's not going anywhere anyway. I just can't, my wand is —”

“It's fine,” Newt says quickly, and does some fancy thing with his wand to create a shimmery bubble that settles down as soon as it's there.

She hesitates, then tells Newt gently, “I can't because I'm Healing, but you can muffle your ears if you want. If that makes it easier.”

Newt grips Tina’s hand. “No. I just… do it, please. Get it — get it out of her.”

Queenie takes another deep, shuddering breath. Jacob almost shakes with the pain of watching the woman he loves have to do this, have to save her sister's life by torturing her, knowing that it might not work. Her wand emits a warm glow as she begins murmuring and waving it in slow, deliberate figures. Tina’s eye twitches. One of them opens. Her hand moves. Queenie’s eyes are shining with tears, watching, waiting. Jacob feels like he may vomit.

“I have to… I'll be right back,” he mutters, feeling terrible for leaving his fiancée like that but desperately needing to collect himself. In their bedroom, he buries his face in his hands, alternately crying and sniffling, trying to get himself under control. For god’s sake, he's probably the one in the room who's suffering the _least._ But he has a big heart, and so in a way he feels almost everything that Queenie and Newt do. He's able to take a deep breath, then another, then another… and that's when the first shriek rents the air.

He leaps to his feet, because he cannot be a coward now. Queenie is sobbing and continuing the motions, while Tina screams on the couch. Her eyes fly open; she arches her back, twisting and writhing. Newt is gripping her hand, unable to hold her down for fear of interrupting Queenie's spell. Tears stream down Newt’s face; he looks up at Jacob and says in a barely-there voice, “I want to hold her.”

“Oh, geez,” Jacob says, feeling sick. He sits next to Newt, grips him hard on the shoulder. “It's okay, buddy,” he says, fighting to keep his voice steady, to be the rock. These are the two people who love Tina the most in the world. As her screams continue, each more pained than the last, he keeps up a steady mantra of encouragement and comfort, even as Newt seems to forget he's there, that anyone’s there except for his Tina. “Come on man, it's okay, she's okay,” Jacob says.

“She's hurting,” Newt forces out, sounding strangled by his pain.

“She's okay. She's safe, like Queenie said.” Another shriek. Queenie is sobbing silently, but miraculously her hands are still steady. God, she's the most incredible woman he's ever met. And he can't tell her that, can't even touch her, because she's saving a life. He turns back to Newt. “C’mon, it's okay” — SHRIEK — “she's not really hurt, she's not in danger” — SCREAM — “it's gonna be fine, you'll see” — CRY — “it's okay, pal, it's alright” — ROAR — “come on, it's okay.”

Newt’s lips are moving but no sound is coming out. Jacob watches him and realizes that he's saying Tina's name, over and over. Just that. _Tina Tina Tina Tina Tina Tina…_

“Babe. Baby,” Queenie says, and her voice is shattered. “The vial, get the — the one right there —” He leaps across the rug, grabbing at the large square vial she’d prepared. “Hold it. I need you to hold it,” she says hoarsely, as though she's choking and smothering and still saving her sister’s life. “Right there. Right there.”

“Okay, doll, okay,” he says, and resists the urge to kiss her on the forehead. Any movement, anything, could be calamitous at this point. Newt is huddled over Tina's body, wracked with sobs. She screams again; the sheer volume and emotion of her cry is so devastatingly terrible it makes the room spin.

“Come on, Teen,” Queenie whispers. She’s stopped moving her wand around and instead has it hovering right above Tina’s sternum. Nothing seems to be happening, but the wand is vibrating with (Jacob presumes) some sort of power. Is that a thing? “Come on, come on, come on… let it go now…”

Tina lets out one more howl, so loud Jacob involuntarily clamps his hands over his ears — and then Queenie gasps and there's a sudden _whoosh_ as a giant stream of something dark and murky shoots out of Tina's chest. It's caught by Queenie's wand; she scrambles for the vial and Jacob has it, he can do this at least, and so he holds it there as Queenie guides whatever this curse, this substance is, into the container.

“Get the stopper ready,” she tells him urgently. He grabs the cork and glances at Newt, whose face is disfigured in such pain that Jacob almost feels it himself. “Any minute now,” Queenie breathes.

There's a rumbling as the very last of it spurts out, caught by her wand, deposited into the vial, and Jacob desperately shoves the stopper in, much like Newt had covered the teapot with the occamy in it last year. And then it's silent.

“She's okay,” Queenie whispers, looking bleakly at Newt. “She's okay, she's okay. I can hear her.”

They look at each other, and then embrace fiercely, sharing in this horrible thing they've had to undergo. Jacob feels awful that he can't relate, awful that he can't help.

“Oh, baby,” Queenie cries then, and throws herself into his arms. He gathers her up as tightly as he can, stroking her hair and kissing wherever he can reach.

“You did amazing, doll,” he murmurs, the understatement of the century. “You're amazing.”

“Thank you,” she breathes, seemingly incapable of anything else. Her eyes flutter shut, her arms are wound around him as though she never wants to move — and he's certainly a-okay with that arrangement.

“Is she gonna wake up?” Jacob asks.

“She will. Soon. I don't know when. She's just coming to.” Exhausted, she says wearily, “Newt.”

He looks up, devastated and exhausted.

“She’ll remember it. The — the torture. Just so you know.”

He nods.

Tina coughs; Newt moves at _lightning_ speed, cradling her face in his hands and stroking the sides of her cheeks reverently. “Tina,” he whispers. “Tina.”

Slowly, one eye opens, as though she's staring into the sun, and then the next. She blinks, and then she's back.

“Newt,” she says.

* * *

Newt flies at her the second he hears his name come out of her mouth; he gathers her into his arms, as much as he can, and his hands are scrabbling for purchase because he needs to be close, needs to feel her moving and talking and _with_ him. He buries his face in her smooth, cool neck and _breathes._ She's frozen at first, trying to adjust to several things, but after a moment he feels her clutch him as tightly as he's clutching her, and he can't help but cry because he almost lost her, because she was in so much pain, because he _loves_ her with every ounce of his being.

“I need you,” he confesses, gazing down at her in his arms, and his voice cracks. “I don't know what to be without you. I can't. I need you,” he repeats helplessly.

She runs her thumb along his bottom lip and pulls him down. “I need you too,” she whispers, and kisses him.

It's better than anything in the entire world, kissing her like this: she's just as desperate as he is, unable to get close enough — but then he remembers that they're not alone and freezes in horror.

Queenie. God dammit, he's a selfish man.

“No you're not,” Queenie says softly. “You're a man in love.”

He gestures wearily towards Tina. “Please. Please, talk to her,” he says, and leans back on his heels. That was by far the absolute _worst_ thing he's had to do in his entire life. He never thought he would feel this strongly about her — about anyone. But she only continues to surprise him, continues to draw him in with every conversation, every lazy afternoon, every stupid quarrel, every joke and laugh and smile, until she has nestled herself into his heart. She's _his,_ or at least he hopes so, for as long as she’ll have him (forever would be rather nice). Queenie and Jacob seemed so surprised that he would jump in front of a Killing Curse for her, but why would he not? How could he not?

It’s too soon to say the words, as much as he wants to tell her — as much as he thinks of the ring in his money pouch — it’s too soon for everything, but he almost lost her. She almost _died._ The concept of that, of her dying and him _living,_ is an abomination. He doesn’t know what happened leading up to the moment he arrived (why didn’t he come downstairs sooner? Why didn’t he know she was hurting?), but he’s certain that she gave up no information to this man.

It’s too soon to say the words, so he thinks them instead, rehearses them in his mind, hopes that someday, somehow she can pick up on his feelings and begin to understand how much she is cared for.

_I love you, Tina._

* * *

Queenie gazes down at her big sister and feels such powerful emotion she almost stops breathing. Tina reaches up to grab her hand. “You saved my life,” she murmurs.

“I guess I did, didn't I?” Queenie says blithely, smiling through the tears. “I’m sorry about the torture.”

“Oh, Queenie,” Tina says, her voice breaking as she sits up and throws her arms around her sister. Queenie holds onto her like she did every night for two years after their parents died, when Tina was _it_ for her, her driftwood in an endless sea of monsters and demons and _alone._ Tina beats herself up about how much Queenie’s helped, but she forgets their childhood.

When their parents died, Tina was the one who told Queenie every day that it was okay, that Ma and Pa were looking out for them, that it would be fine. They were in and out of foster homes for a few years. Each time the system threatened to separate the two girls, it was Tina who put up a fight. It was Tina who stood up, guns blazing, and told them she would rather chop off her hand than be separated from her sister. It was Tina who was so fiercely protective, so _strong,_ who held Queenie at night and sang the lullabies their mother couldn’t sing anymore. Queenie still remembers what Tina looked like, all those times they were ready to give up: she was a tall, scrawny girl with a jaw that was always set and a mane of wild dark brown hair and eyes that shone like _fire_ when someone threatened Queenie. She was Queenie’s savior, her role model, her everything.

She wishes Tina had Legilimency, so that she could hear everything that Queenie is thinking and cannot say. But she doesn’t, and she can’t, so instead Queenie keeps her arms around Tina, their thoughts mingling until she can't tell whose is whose. _I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, at least I didn't keep you waiting on that cliffhanger — I'm not that sadistic!


	36. With a love that's true, always

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sophia has horrible timing (but it's okay because Newt loves her), and Tina is safe in Newt's arms.
> 
> He kisses her desperately, wanting to convey everything he felt, everything he feels for her.
> 
> She breaks apart for a moment, gazing at him. “You were going to die for me,” she says in a hushed voice.
> 
> “Why must everyone bring that up?” Newt asks self-consciously. “Of course I did."
> 
> Chapter title from "Always" by Irving Berlin (1925)

Although everyone is exhausted, nobody can go to sleep now. They place the vial in a carefully sealed and protected bag to deliver to MACUSA tomorrow. Queenie manages to summon a pigeon from outside and send Madam Picquery a message.

“Whaddya think happened to that — the guy who was supposed to be Tina’s lookout?” Jacob asks.

Queenie shakes her head. “I don’t know. If it’s the same curse, they might not be able to save him. With dark magic… the darker it is, the more it takes to fight it. The more love you gotta have for the person. I love Tina enough to do it, but if he doesn’t have anybody… I don’t know.”

“Well, he’s gotta,” Jacob says, looking distraught.

Queenie gives a sad smile. “I hope so.”

Newt can't keep his hands off Tina for the rest of the evening. He knows he's being clingy, but he also can't care. She's soft and pliant against him, curling up in his lap and gently playing with the cuff of his shirt sleeve, planting a kiss on his forearm where it's wound protectively around her. For a long time, the four of them sit in front of the fireplace, just talking quietly about nothing and skimming the papers.

“You're going to have to get over it,” Queenie says suddenly, looking sharply at Tina.

Tina flushes. “Stop it.”

“ _You_ stop it. Teenie, we all almost lost you. Don't be ridiculous.”

“It doesn't change anything.”

“For the love of — _Newt,”_ Queenie snaps. “Do you want to kiss Tina?”

What? “Always,” he answers before he can think.

Queenie smirks and settles back down under Jacob's protective arm. “There you go.” She turns to Newt. “She was worried about kissing you, in case you didn't want her to.”

The idea is laughable. “I will _always_ want you to,” he promises in her ear, and, just to prove his point, gently turns her chin towards him and kisses her lightly.

“Really?”

“How could you have ever doubted?”

“You're not just saying it because I almost died?”

He shudders, hating the statement. “Never.”

Queenie looks at them both, eyebrows raised. “Perhaps it's time for you two to go to bed,” she suggests very pointedly.

Newt turns red. “No, it's… we…”

Tina gets up off his lap and drags him to his feet. “Goodnight,” she says definitively to the apartment, and leads him wordlessly into their room, closing the door carefully behind them.

“Tina, if you —” he starts to say, but she flings herself at him, first her arms around his neck and then his lips and it's like she's picking up where they left off on the couch. He kisses her desperately, wanting to convey everything he felt, everything he _feels_ for her.

She breaks apart for a moment, gazing at him. “You were going to die for me,” she says in a hushed voice.

“Why must everyone bring that up?” Newt asks self-consciously. “Of course I did, I —”

She throws herself at him again, this time walking him backwards until he lands on the bed with a thump and she's standing between his knees. Slowly, deliberately, she leans down and kisses him, slotting their lips together and he never knew kissing could be quite this _interesting_ , as her tongue somehow makes an appearance and he jolts. “Sorry,” she whispers, feeling him tense. Then she shakes herself, pushes her hair out of her face, and frowns. “I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me.”

Newt wraps his hands around her hips and drags her towards him. “I rather like it,” he says. _I love you_.

“You stayed,” she whispers, her hands cradling his face, and his heart breaks. How on earth could she still doubt?

“Why would I leave?”

She shakes her head wonderingly. “You said you need me.” _Didn't he already admit to that?_

“I… you’re a part of my life now,” he fumbles, “and I just… I couldn’t imagine it without you. I don’t _want_ to imagine it without you. I know it’s only been a month, which seems an awfully short time to — to need someone — but I do,” he says helplessly, trying to defend himself. “I… before you I was alone. I liked being alone, I always did, but as soon as I met you I… I hated being alone, because it meant I wasn’t with you.

“And I know I’ve said this before, at least some of it, and it will get tiresome, but I just… I couldn’t. Perhaps I’m being foolish. I…” He shakes his head, unable to produce the words he wants to say.

Tina sits down next to him on the bed, but doesn’t say anything.

“You must be exhausted,” he realizes. The adrenaline is wearing off, and he watches as she tries to stifle a yawn.

“Yeah,” she admits, “being tortured really… hey, it’s okay,” she says, alarmed at the look on his face.

“I just hate to hear you say it. I hate…”

“Well, at least it was Queenie doing it, it wasn’t some idiot.” She's trying to be light hearted, but Newt doesn't buy it.

“She wouldn’t have had to — to do _that_ if it weren’t for…” He clenches his jaw. Now is not the time to get into that.

“Newt, it’s okay,” she says softly, reaching over to brush his hair off his forehead. She scans his face searchingly, eyes darting from his forehead to his chin to each of his cheekbones, and then kisses him again, one hand grasping his shirt and the other cradling the back of his head. He responds with the eagerness of — what was it that Queenie had said? — a man in love, his hands sliding up and down her sides, and —

The door slams open; they jump apart.

“NEWT! TINA!” Sophia yells, launching herself across the room at them. Queenie runs up behind her, wringing her hands in dismay, while Jacob _winks_ at Newt.

“Soph, what are you —”

She’s hugging both of them fiercely, rocking back and forth. “I heard, I heard what happened, Mom found out and told me and I came over here as quick as I could, I was so confused when you guys disappeared — you could’ve told me! I would’ve come — but no, you were preoccupied — the Newties threw a fit, it was _awful,_ but Madam Picquery showed up and escorted me away, which was actually great fun except for the fact that all this was happening and — oh.” Her brain apparently catches up with her mouth. “Oh, jeepers, was I interrupting?” She eyes their disheveled appearances. “I am _so_ sorry.”

Tina buries her face in her hands. “It’s fine, we were just going to bed anyway.”

Sophia looks positively horrified. “I’m so sorry, Newt, I was — you guys can go back to doing — whatever you were doing, I’ll just…”

“No,” he says wearily, “stay.” He and Tina have plenty of time ahead, particularly in England, to go back to what they were doing. They should _talk_ about what they were — are — doing, at some point, too. But that’s an uncomfortable conversation to be saved for another day. “Come on,” he says, and sits against the headboard of his bed. Sophia scampers up next to him; he puts his arm around her, then grabs her in a slight chokehold. “That’s for interrupting,” he says when she yelps.

“That’s fair,” she admits, and stops squirming. “Oh, _Newt,_ I’m so glad you’re all okay.” She hugs him again (he doesn’t have the energy to fight her off anymore) and then drags Tina over on the bed next to them. “I’ll leave in a minute,” she says, not at all subtly pushing Newt over so he’s flush with Tina; sighing, he puts his arm around his girlfriend as well. “I just wanted to say I really love you guys, both of you — all of you” — she nods at Queenie and Jacob, who are still standing in the doorway — “and I’m just… glad to be your friends. And sister,” she adds to Newt, who pokes the end of her nose.

“This is the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen,” Queenie sighs, leaning against Jacob happily. It’s dreadfully cliché, Newt realizes, sitting on this bed with one arm around the love of his life and the other around, well, he admits he does love Sophia a great deal too, though he’ll never say it out loud, or at least in as many words. Although at this rate he’s certainly more likely to pour his heart out to her than he is to tell Tina that he loves her.

“Alright, I’m out,” Sophia says, jumping to her feet. She kisses Newt on the cheek, then Tina, and gives Queenie and Jacob a hug, squishing them together. Then she pauses for a moment, standing in the doorway, akimbo and beaming. “I love you guys,” she announces, and Disapparates.

* * *

Queenie and Jacob walk away the moment she disappears, closing the door quietly behind them. Tina and Newt look at each other, trying to process what just happened. Sophia is like that, a whirlwind of energy; she sweeps through the room, talks a mile a minute, hugs everyone, and disappears.

“That was…” Newt begins.

“That was really something,” Tina nods, and she doesn’t know who starts it but suddenly they’re both laughing hysterically, stupidly, because this entire goddamn day has been a total trainwreck and they’re exhausted and she was just tortured and —

Newt suddenly stops laughing, and looks at her with utmost seriousness.

“You okay?” she asks in alarm.

He starts getting fidgety. Of course.

“Okay, Newt, what do you want,” Tina says, rolling her eyes because this is _always_ how things go when he’s nervous about asking something.

“I was only wondering if, er…”

“What?”

“It was terrible, watching you go through that,” he says, “and I — I wanted to _hold_ you but I couldn’t, and I couldn’t _stand_ to let go of you because I thought…”

“You thought I might die?”

A tear winds its way down the side of his face. “Just… just a smidge,” he says.

“Well, I’m here now. I didn’t die.”

“It’s just that we’re both dreadfully tired and it’s only Queenie and Jacob in their room and I…” He averts his eyes. “I didn’t know if you, er…”

Tina finally catches on. That adorable, endearing, beautiful, eccentric man. “You want to sleep in the same bed.”

The tips of his ears go red and he starts mumbling at the sheets. “J-just to sleep, I mean, just because I’m… well, I look for you whenever I wake up anyhow, and I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep if I don’t know _for sure_ that you’re safe, and you’re…” _You’re safe in my arms._ It’s so unbearably cheesy Tina almost cringes, while at the same time feeling like one of the luckiest people in the world to have a man like this in her life. To be perfectly honest, she doesn't feel altogether comfortable going off to her own bed now, either. Although she knows she's safe, she's gotten accustomed now to his physical presence, and after what they just went through it seems ridiculous to sleep so far apart.

“Newt,” she says, gazing up at him and hoping that somehow she can convey everything she feels, or even just a fraction of it. “It’s fine. I would love to.”

“Oh.” A little smile plays on his lips. “That’s… good. Excellent.”

“Yeah, you dummy,” she says, shaking her head. “Come on, I’ll go change.”

He nods, and as she slips out from under his arm, grabs her pajama suit, and looks back, the bed does seem awfully empty with him sitting there forlornly.

“I'll be right back,” she promises.

When she returns to the room, he's in his pajamas sitting up in bed. He's pulled the covers over himself but left them folded down on the space next to him.

“Hey,” she says, and slides into bed, resting her head on the pillow. “You know, usually you lie down when you sleep.”

“Oh,” he says, looking incredibly awkward. “I'll… right.” He lies down next to her; they face each other, like they have every night for the past month, except this time they're so much closer, she can feel his breath ghosting over her lips. He leans over and carefully draws the sheets over her, tucking her in, and then asks, “Are you comfortable?”

She's hit by a sudden wave of emotion. He does this to her, makes her cry because he's just so _sweet_ and she just _loves_ him.

His eyes widen. “Oh no, Tina, are you —”

“I'm fine, I'm fine,” she says thickly, wiping her eyes. _It's just that I love you._ “It's just that I'm… I'm glad to be here.”

He takes her hands in his and brings them up so they're resting over his heart. “I am too.”

“Thank you,” she whispers.

“Was it — did it — did it hurt?” he asks haltingly.

It's an echo now, but she remembers it. It was pain like she's never experienced before, physical and mental and unworldly. “Did being tortured hurt?” she asks drily. “Yeah, just a little.”

He blanches. “I'm sorry —”

She kisses him quickly, barely having to move to reach him, and rests one hand against the side of his face. “It's alright. It was… it did hurt. It was horrible. I can't describe it, I…”

“I'm so sorry,” he whispers.

“It's fine,” she says, tearing up.

“If you don't stop saying you're fine while you're crying —”

Tina laughs through the tears. “Okay, okay, I'm sorry. It wasn't fine. It isn't fine. But it is now, because I'm here… with you.”

He brings her hand up to his lips and kisses each knuckle in a ridiculously, absurdly tender gesture. “I'm glad,” he replies.

She really is exhausted, though; everything's getting a bit blurry and her eyes are itchy. “I'm tired,” she yawns, and curls up as close as she can to him. He wraps his arms around her, and she nestles into his chest. She can tell he's still awake, that his eyes are still open, so she pulls away slightly. “Newt?”

“Hmm?”

“Kiss me,” she says, because she's sick of him always waiting, always too hesitant to make a move.

He obliges immediately, and while the fire from before has been tamped down he's every bit as tender and intimate and _loving._ “Goodnight, Tina,” he says quietly, pushing her hair behind her ear. Beneath the covers, his hand finds hers, and he weaves their fingers together tightly as though determined to never let go.

“Night, Newt,” she replies, and falls asleep to the beating of his heart. _Safe._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, phew, that was an emotional rollercoaster. I wrote those three chapters around, like... chapter 8 and I feel like a huge weight has been lifted off my chest now that we FINALLY got there.
> 
> Also, sorry for the intense Newtina canoodling, but this is rated T so I get a pass ;)
> 
> In upcoming chapters, we're gonna see what Lucille is up to, talk to Seraphina about what happened, and — of course! — meet the family on Thursday (this all happened on Tuesday).


	37. Trouble, trouble, I've had it all my days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a good man is killed, and Sophia is just as much of a BAMF as Queenie.
> 
> "Sometimes the only option you have is to put your chin up and be strong. And that’s now, Tina. That’s your only option right now. More people are gonna die. You can’t save all of ‘em, but you can do a helluva lot more getting yourself together and doing your job, than sitting here on your boyfriend’s lap crying a river.
> 
> "We’re never prepared to deal with these situations… until we’re stuck in ‘em and we have to be. Somebody has to be strong. Somebody has to go out there and fight for what’s right. We don’t have a choice. We’re the ones who are alive still, we’re the ones who are gonna go down kicking and screaming. All of us."
> 
> Chapter title from "Downhearted Blues" by Alberta Hunter (1922)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, it's 3 am but I couldn't stop writing and I had to post this too.

_Week 4, Wednesday_

It’s 6 am in Manhattan and Graham Woodcroft is getting a coffee. He heard about Tina, of course; the story will be all over the papers in whatever version is approved by… well, Newt, isn’t it? That kid is an odd one, though clearly in love with Tina. Graham still feels a little badly about their first meeting, in which he was so preoccupied he acted as though the man didn’t exist. Still. In times like these, all bets are off.

God, that scene in New Orleans had been horrific. When they arrived to contain the situation, right after getting all the young adults into custody and sent to be interrogated, they found about fifty dead bodies, all No-Majs, floating in a nearby river. It’s terrifying, what’s going on.

He does wonder, however, whether this is really just a delusional wizard trying to start a war. What was it that Tina had gone on about a few weeks ago? Lucille Wadcock? Maybe there’s more to it than meets the eye… maybe there’s a connection there. He makes a mental note to stop by the Goldsteins’ apartment later and see how Tina is. If she’s up to it, maybe she could fill him in on what she’s found so far — if she’s found anything — and he’ll have to break the news to her about New Orleans.

The door jingles as he enters. This is his favorite No-Maj coffee place. It’s unassuming, a fair number of other MACUSA employees frequent it, and at this hour of day it’s nearly empty, the only other occupants being the barista, a young woman in the corner booth, and himself. The decor is homey and warm and the family who owns it has known him for years. Stretching — being an Auror isn’t just taxing mentally and emotionally; it takes a _lot_ of physical exertion to do what he does — he winces, yawns, and then opens up the paper. The No-Maj papers are always so naive: although they discuss the mysterious attacks that are proliferating around the globe right now, they have no idea the severity of it, and there are still innocently uplifting articles about strawberry-picking and couples who’ve been together for 70 years.

He enjoys his coffee for maybe fifteen minutes, watching as a few more customers come and go, and then decides to see if Madam Picquery has any information about Tina. More importantly, he doesn’t know how much the guys have reported to her, but this New Orleans situation is obviously going to require some discussion.

“Bye, Clarissa,” he says, nodding at the barista, who smiles and waves at him. He registers a flash of white-blond hair a split second before someone grabs his arm and Disapparates.

His feet land on hard, slightly damp cement in what looks to be an abandoned warehouse. A woman — the one who’d been lingering at the café — stands there imperiously. Before he can open his mouth, she Disarms him and shackles him to a rusted metal pillar in the center of the room. He falls to his knees. This is… this is _not_ good.

She strides towards him purposefully; even beneath her masculine attire, and despite her height, he can see that she’s built as strongly as he is. This is _definitely_ not good. Still, he remains calm, his Auror training and the fairly mellow disposition he’s always possessed working in his favor.

“What do you know of Porpentina Goldstein?”

Tina? What do they want — oh, of course. Someone _had_ attempted to kill her yesterday. “Nothing,” Graham says stoutly.

“What does she plan to do to Lucille Wadcock?”

Lucille Wadcock. So he was right: there _is_ more to this. “Never heard of her.”

The woman’s eyes flash dangerously. “You have. She was given the case. What do they think Lucille is doing?”

“No idea,” he grunts. He’s going to need to think quick, and without his wand he’s hard-pressed to find a way out. There _is_ such a thing as wandless magic… but only the greatest, most accomplished wizards have possessed it. Could desperation work in his favor?

“Mr. Woodcroft, if you give an honest answer we may be able to negotiate.”

“That _is_ an honest answer.”

The woman eyes him with a steely gaze, which he returns full on. She paces back and forth in front of him. “If you insist on being uncooperative, I'm afraid I have no other option.”

He shrugs. “Fine. I'm not telling you anything.”

“You are handcuffed and wandless. You really want to back talk right now?”

“I'm telling you the truth. Tina’s my friend and my coworker.” Where _is_ he? At this point his only tactic is stalling. “Why do you want to know?”

“You are not the one asking the questions.”

“Do you know Grindelwald, then?”

She clenches her fist ever so briefly. So there _is_ a connection. “No,” she lies coolly.

His odds of getting out of here alive are slim to none. Plan B: how to communicate what he’s learned to the others. This is _critical_ information. “You do, don’t you. How do you know him?” he asks, still stalling. Carefully, behind his back, he feels around for his jacket pocket. He left a piece of scrap paper in there the other day… his fingers catch on the edge of it and he tugs.

“Tell me what Porpentina knows of Lucille Wadcock.”

“I don’t know.” There’s a pencil in there somewhere too. Is it in his other pocket? He strains, clenching his teeth as his shoulder cramps up from the awkward angle, but then his fingers find the writing utensil. He has a scrap of paper clutched in his left hand, a pencil in his right.

“We know that she’s been working on the case. She’s planning to go to Scotland.”

He keeps his voice as even as possible, struggling to move undetected. “Is she? So is Lucille — sorry, Miss Wadcock — planning to meet her there?” The graphite tip scratches against the paper. He’s running out of time; he can feel it. This is his last chance.

“This is _not_ about you.” The woman is sounding frustrated. He’s gotten under her skin, which could either be good or bad. Probably bad.

He just needs 6 strokes, 6 lines… he counts them in his head, trying to look nonchalant as she watches him. 1… 2… 3… “You’re the one who kidnapped me and brought me here, so it kind of seems like it’s at least partly about me,” he says cheerfully.

“Do you dare mock me?” 4… 5… He hopes he’s doing this right, that somebody can figure it out.

“Sorry, maybe it’s just my ego. They always complained about that at school.” ...6. He stuffs the scrap of paper back into his pocket and says a silent prayer that Tina will find his clue and understand. 

“You go too far, Mr. Woodcroft.”

He winks at her. “Do I?”

It happens as suddenly and simply as these things do. There's a flash of green light, and he's gone.

Frida drags his body outside to the gutter and leaves it there to be found. Lucille has always been very clear about this — she likes to make _statements._ She likes to hide in plain sight. It’s bold, brash, reckless, and somehow has not caught up to her yet.

The sky is a deep blue now, the sun is casting friendly golden light over everything, including the man’s lifeless body, and an Auror — her first Auror, in fact — has just been killed. It was a fruitless endeavor, but at the very least, she has eliminated one of Tina’s allies.

Frida Disapparates, leaving no trace, not even a fingerprint.

* * *

Newt wakes up and automatically scrambles to do his morning Tina Check, before realizing that she's right here, curled up against his chest, breathing slowly. They're still holding hands. _Perfect._ He lets himself doze off again, lips pressed against her forehead.

They both wake to Queenie shaking them. “Get up, get up,” she cries, looking devastated.

“Mm?” Tina asks blearily.

“Oh, Teenie, something terrible’s happened, come on —” She drags her sister out of bed, Newt close behind.

In the middle of the living room, a silvery panther Patronus is speaking in Madam Picquery’s voice.

“Graham Woodcroft’s body was found this morning near a warehouse just outside of Manhattan. His killer left no trace and we do not know who cast the curse or the events leading to the murder. He had just returned from New Orleans, where he led efforts to address the deaths of fifty No-Majs.

“We remember Graham fondly as a good and loyal friend, employee, son, and brother. Aurors may come to MACUSA today for a private viewing. Vigils will be held over the next few days and further arrangements are to be made by his family alone.

“The darkness has won when we can no longer love. Graham was a loving, courageous man. We will not let his sacrifices go to waste. I now invite you to join me in a moment of silence.”

Tina looks up, stricken, tears flowing down her face. She clutches Queenie, who is also crying, and they bow their heads together.

“To Graham,” Madam Picquery says, and then the Patronus fades away.

“Oh, Teen, I'm so sorry,” Queenie murmurs, rubbing Tina on the back. “He was your friend.”

“He…” Tina shakes her head, seemingly unable to wrap her mind around it. “He’s… gone.” Her voice cracks then, and she bursts into sobs. There’s a moment in which both Queenie and Newt move to comfort her; they make eye contact and then Queenie nods at Newt, who gathers Tina gently into his arms.

“I’m sorry, Tina,” he whispers into her hair.

“I don’t understand… he was fine, he was… I don’t.” She looks at all of them bleakly. “He was my friend.”

Newt feels terrible now, recalling how he’d resented Graham. Queenie touches him on the arm, picking up on his guilt, and shakes her head. _Don’t beat yourself up now._

“Do you want to go to MACUSA?” Newt asks, still hugging her tightly.

“I don’t… I don’t _know,_ I can’t —” She shakes her head. “He’s gone.”

Queenie nods. “I know, Teenie, I know, I’m so sorry,” she says miserably. “It isn’t fair, it isn’t.”

Tina’s hiccuping sobs slowly fade, and then she raises her head. “We have to go to MACUSA,” she says staunchly, wiping away her tears. “I have to.”

“Yes,” Newt says quickly, “yes, of course, I’ll…” He casts around the apartment, as though a way to help Tina and fix this entire situation is going to suddenly whizz through the air like a billywig and present itself.

“Why don’t you get dressed, and have something to eat,” Queenie suggests.

“I’m sorry, Tina,” Jacob says gruffly, clapping her on the back as they all go to the kitchen.

She sits numbly as Jacob piles her plate with food and Queenie pours coffee.

“Go on,” Queenie says encouragingly, nudging her.

“Tina, you have to eat,” Newt says firmly.

“I…” She pushes the plate away, buries her face in her hands, and starts crying again. The others exchange helpless glances. Then she looks up at Newt, who tries to do something encouraging with his face, and throws herself at him, sobbing. She ends up half on his chair, half in his lap, a complete and utter disaster.

“I'm sorry,” Newt murmurs as she cries onto his shoulder. He pulls her onto his lap so she’s in a less awkward position. Things have been such a _mess_ and they don't appear to be getting any better. “I don’t…”

Nobody seems to know what to do to comfort her. “Just let her cry,” Queenie says softly, resting a hand on his shoulder.

That sounds like a terrible idea, but Newt can’t think of a better one, so he does. Queenie comes and sits on Jacob’s lap, legs crossed and arm around his neck, as they all wait for Tina to recover.

“Hey,” Newt says gently after nearly twenty minutes pass and she’s still sniffling on him. “Can — d’you feel any —”

She shakes her head and bursts into tears again. _Bloody hell._

“I don’t know what to do,” he tells Queenie and Jacob. “I can’t — I can’t fix this…”

The door to the apartment suddenly springs open, revealing Sophia, who immediately assesses the entire scene and strides over to Tina. “How long has she been crying?” she asks Newt.

“Er…”

“Ever since the announcement,” Queenie says quietly.

“So what, half an hour?”

“About,” Jacob puts in.

“Okay.” She stands akimbo for a moment; the others wait, not sure what she’s planning to do but hoping she can come up with something. “Hey, Tina,” she says finally. When Tina doesn’t respond, she forcibly pushes her away from Newt, so she’s sitting up, still half on his lap. “Come here,” Sophia says, and gives her a big, firm hug. “Now,” she says, and grabs Tina by the arms. “You’re going to be fine.”

Tina’s face crumbles. “He was my friend —”

“We know,” Sophia says firmly. “He _was_ your friend. And he’d be pretty peeved if he knew _this_ was what you were doing instead of going out there and finishing what he started, don’t you think? I mean, good lord, Tina, what are you doing with yourself? This isn’t you!”

She gestures emphatically at the Auror, who tries to hide her face in Newt’s shirt.

“You’ve been through horrible things in your life,” Sophia says quietly. She grabs Tina’s chin gently but unflinchingly, and forces her to make eye contact. “No, listen to me. You’ve been through some _real_ shit, but you got out of it. Life ain’t fair, sister. But sometimes the only option you have is to put your chin up and be strong. And that’s _now,_ Tina. That’s your _only_ option right now. Graham’s dead” — Tina whimpers — “no, you’re going to have to get over it, I’m sorry, but no amount of crying is going to bring him back. Graham’s dead, along with fifty No-Majs, Fenwick — yeah, they couldn’t save him from that curse — and thousands of innocent people. And you know what?”

Tina looks up blearily. The kitchen is silent, even the tea kettle hanging on to her every word.

“More people are gonna die. Yeah, I’m telling you the truth, because I know you’re _in_ there, and you can damn well take this. _More people are gonna die_ before this is over. You can’t save all of ‘em, but you can do a helluva lot more getting yourself together and doing your _job,_ than sitting here on your boyfriend’s lap crying a river.

“I love you, Tina. I really do. And I came down here because I figured you’d be doing this. You’re stronger than anyone I know, and I think everyone in this kitchen can agree with that. You’ve had a ridiculous, terrible time of it lately. You really have. I’m sorry this is happening. I mean, you were attacked, you were tortured by your sister, and now one of your closest friends was killed.

“This is scary stuff. We’re never prepared to deal with these situations… until we’re stuck in ‘em and we _have_ to be. _I’m_ scared. I think everyone is. But _somebody_ has to be strong. Somebody has to go out there and fight for what’s right.

“It’s fine if you need to cry. But I got a feeling you were all set to go down a dangerous path of moping and regrets and self pity and I am _not_ letting that happen. You’re too good for that. You’re too strong.

“I didn’t know Graham, but my mom did, and she said he was a wonderful guy, really top notch. She said he was always calm, always positive, always strong. And he liked you, he vouched for you after the incident with the Second Salemers. He thought you had what it took to be an Auror. He was killed in the line of duty, and it’s _your_ job now to make sure that doesn’t happen again.

“We can’t freeze time,” she addresses the whole room. “We can’t. This is happening in _real time._ Right here, right now. I know how hard it is, I know it. Believe me, I was ready to give up this morning, when I first heard. But _we don’t have a choice._ We’re the ones who are alive still, we’re the ones who are gonna go down kicking and screaming. All of us.

“Now, this is what you’re going to do,” she says, still gripping Tina. “You are going to calm down. You are going to go change into your Auror outfit. You are going to eat your breakfast before _I_ eat it, you are going to drink your coffee or else I’ll drink that too, and _nobody_ wants that. Then we are all going to go with you to MACUSA. We’ll be there for you, every step of the way. But _you_ have to do this. _You’re_ the Auror. _You’re_ Graham’s friend. _You’re_ the one on that Wadcock case — which I’d say is probably a pretty important one to look into now.

“Capisce?” she asks. Tina is staring at her. So is everyone else. “Oh, come on,” she snaps, rolling her eyes.

“Capisce,” Tina says in a small voice.

Sophia grins. “Swell. So get off your boyfriend’s lap, because he really doesn’t like girls crying on him, and get this day _started.”_

Tina starts to say something, then stops. Slowly, obediently, she stands up. She takes a long, shuddering breath.

“Yeah, see, you got this,” Sophia says. She gives Tina a quick hug, stands on tiptoes to peck her on the cheek, and then shoves her towards her room. “Go get dressed.”

Tina goes.

“Whew,” Sophia says, taking a seat and looking spent. “D’you think that was compelling enough?” she asks Newt, Queenie, and Jacob, all of whom are still staring at her.

“I… I would say that was quite compelling,” Newt says, nodding.

“Wish you’d been around during the war,” Jacob says. “We coulda used a leader like you.”

Sophia smiles. “Good.” Then she eyes the coffee pot. “So… maybe just a little?”


	38. 'Cause my best friend said his last goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Graham was a damn good man, Lucille is still a hot mess, and Tina does shots with Seraphina and Ewan.
> 
> “You ain’t alone,” Graham says. “There’ll always be someone who wants to help you. You think you’re the first one of us who’s done this? Don’t give yourself so much credit. But you gotta go back out there and face the world, because you came here to make it a better place. You got what it takes. One of these days the world’s gonna come crashing down, and you’re gonna help save it. I know.”
> 
> Chapter title from “Crazy Blues” by Perry Bradford (1920)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first chapter I've ever CRIED while writing. Okay, I just really love Graham. *sobs*

As promised, Sophia, Queenie, Jacob, and Newt accompany Tina somberly to MACUSA, where the doorman, who’s wearing a black armband and a look of woe, admits them without a word. Inside, there’s a sign directing Aurors to the central office for the viewing. Newt squeezes her hand, and then she walks in.

Graham’s body has been placed in a beautiful wooden coffin. His eyes are closed, and he still has a slight smirk on his face. _Oh, Graham._

* * *

_It’s Tina’s first day as an Auror. Daunted but pretending to be fine in a room of strangers, she hovers by the wall as other Aurors eat lunch, chatting away. She considers retreating to her office — she doesn’t feel hungry anyway — but suddenly a tall, stocky man breaks away from the group and walks over towards her._

_“Hey,” he says, extending a hand. “Graham Woodcroft.”_

_She shakes his hand warily. “Tina Goldstein.”_

_“Ah, yeah.” He nods encouragingly. “How’s your first day?”_

_“Fine.”_

_His eyes crinkle as he smiles at her. “No, it’s not. You’re clinging to the wall like we’re gonna attack you if you try to be friendly.”_

_“I can just go to my office —”_

_“Nah,” he says, taking a few steps back towards the rest of the Aurors and gesturing for her to follow. “Come on, I’ll introduce ya.”_

_Feeling very anxious about this entire situation, Tina follows him._

_“This is Tina,” he announces. “She’s new.”  The others look interested, if not overly welcoming. “So, when did you decide to become an Auror?”_

One of these days, _Queenie had told her last night, during a particularly bad episode,_ you’re gonna have to come to terms with what happened with Alec. If you keep tryna pretend like it didn’t happen, you’re never gonna stop hurting. _Tina takes a deep breath. “When I saw Aurors rescue a girl from a man who had hurt me. I was — I’d been too scared to say anything.”_

_The other Aurors exchange glances — not bad ones — and look at her with a new warmth. “That’s good,” a young woman says, smiling at her._

_“Yeah, we appreciate strong people on the force,” Graham says. “I don’t think there’s a single one of us here who didn’t wanna be an Auror ‘cause we got hurt.”_

_“Really?” Tina asks._

_Everyone nods, some slowly, some hesitantly, but agree nonetheless._

_“Oh,” she says, suddenly feeling quite emotional._

_“You ain’t alone,” the young woman says gently._

_Graham grabs her by the shoulder and shakes in a friendly but rather bone-crunching gesture. “Welcome to MACUSA, Miss Goldstein.”_

* * *

He’d been the first one to notice her, to welcome her, and assure her that she was not alone. Her entire life, Tina had felt alone. She’d suffered alone when Ma and Pa died, putting on a brave face for Queenie; she’d suffered alone after Alec, hiding away in Babington almost constantly, trying to avoid him and throw herself into her studies; she’d suffered alone when the episodes started happening, despite Queenie’s help. Graham pointed out, on that first day, that she isn’t the first or last person to get hurt, and that the others in their same line of business were not untainted by the darkness either. He pointed out that there will always be someone who wants to help, as though he knew she might find Newt someday.

She’s never told anyone, not even Queenie (although there’s always a more than decent chance that Queenie knows anyway), but Graham was the only person other than Queenie and now Newt to see her when she was struggling.

* * *

_It comes on during a normal day at work: something triggers it, a certain smell or color or sound, and the wind is knocked out of her lungs._

_Not knowing what to do, she bolts out of her office and takes the stairs two at a time until she reaches the top floor. It’s vacant and run down — they’re planning to renovate soon. There, she leans against the wall, trying to breathe, trying to blink away the flashbacks._

_She doesn’t even notice when Graham walks through the door until he’s standing in front of her. “Tina,” he says. He doesn’t sound panicked, which helps. He just sounds concerned. Calm. “You alright?”_

_She presses her lips together, tears threatening to spill out, and shakes her head. “No,” she admits for the first time in what feels like forever._

_“Oh,” is all he says, and comes and stands beside her as she fights back tears. “Need a hug?” he asks then, opening his arms._

_She falls into them; unable to fight anymore, her sobs echo up and down the corridor, and still he stays there and holds her._

_“Is this about that man?” he asks quietly._

_She nods._

_“You ain’t alone,” he says, echoing the woman from the first day. “There’ll always be someone who wants to help you. Hey. You think you’re the first one of us who’s done this?” He grips her by the shoulders, grinning. “Don’t give yourself so much credit.”_

_“R-really?” she blubbers._

_“Yeah,” he says, and hugs her close again._

_When she’s finally calmed down — without Queenie! — she takes a deep breath and steps away._

_“Now, don’t you dare apologize to me,” he says sternly as the words are forming on the tip of her tongue. “We don’t need to tell anybody about this. I won’t. But you gotta go back out there and face the world, because you came here to make it a better place. Okay? And listen, I’ll be your bodyguard, alright? I’ll make sure nothing really hurts ya.”_

_“Th-thanks,” she stutters._

_“‘Course. You’re a good egg, Miss Goldstein. You got what it takes. One of these days the world’s gonna come crashing down, and you’re gonna help save it. I know.”_

_“Sure,” she says dubiously, and follows him down the stairs._

* * *

Sophia was right. It’s on her now. Graham isn’t around to hug and guard her and do all the dirty work. They’d drifted a little after the mess with the Second Salemers, and she regrets that more than anything else. She never got a chance to truly thank him, to tell him that he saved her. But his words then… it’s almost as though he _knew_ this would happen.

As Tina moves, trembling, to brush a hand over his body, her finger catches on his jacket pocket and a piece of paper flutters to the ground. She kneels and picks it up.

In shaky handwriting, as though the writer couldn’t see what he was doing, the letters L and W can be made out. Some of the lines are slightly out of place, not lining up exactly, but that _has_ to be it. “L.W.,” Tina murmurs. Then it hits her. “L.W… L… _Lucille!”_ Several people glare at her, incredibly disapproving of such noisy behavior when everyone is gathered around a dead Auror, mourning. “Sorry,” she apologizes, and races to Madam Picquery’s office.

* * *

Truth be told, Lucille is disappointed but not surprised in the least at Phillip’s downfall. She _is_ rather peeved that he allowed himself to be roped in by that Scamander fellow, and that he got so close to achieving his (her) goal before failing. Still, at least he killed that Auror-in-training. If she’s being honest, she is still trying to impress, still hoping that perhaps sheer numbers will be enough…

Lucille is feeling particularly volatile today. The sequins on her dress are cut so thin they could slice through skin, her lipstick _screams_ danger, she’s wearing her brightest eyeshadow, and beneath black leather gloves her fingernails have been painted over in the sort of red that usually indicates _poison_ in nature. She chose a narrow headband, thin and sinewy enough to wrap around someone’s throat; she’s wearing her highest heeled boots. It’s almost her battle armor, but not quite.

Briefly, as she gets dressed in a shabby hotel room, she glances at the small pile of dark blue cloche hats in the corner. She wears them when she hits the streets or the bars, although The One is reserved for the most important and dangerous of occasions: since her childhood, it’s been worn only a few times.

She meanders around the city for an hour, flirting with men, smiling at passersby, and relishing it. Frida knows this about her, knows how much she adores making a statement. Someone once suggested that she was overcompensating for being ignored as a child. Although she promptly jinxed them for speaking to her so audaciously, she openly admits that they are right. She _loves_ to prove herself; the drama of doing what she’s doing — hiding out in plain sight, taking risks so absurd they should be unattainable — is intoxicating. Almost enough to soothe the burn whenever she thinks about —

“The offer still stands,” Frida says quietly.

They’re back in the warehouse. Lucille shakes her head. “No. I will do this alone.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I do.”

“John —”

Lucille whips around. “Do _not_ speak his name,” she snarls.

“I can help.”

Lucille turns her back to the assassin, chest heaving as she struggles to collect herself. “How did you find out?”

“I have sources.”

 _Yelling, curse words, a man in a robe, a scream, the thump as a body hits the ground…_ Lucille gasps, flinching as she pulls herself out of the memory. “Tell me.”

“Only if you will allow me to help you.”

 _Desperation, fear, anger, confusion… what have you done?_ “No,” she says tightly. “I cannot.”

“You could have ended this sooner,” Frida says softly.

 _A flash of light, white paint, a dollhouse in the corner, a grandfather clock…_ “I was not ready.”

“Is that what he told you?”

 _Trust, disappointment, frustration…_ “Yes. No. Not... exactly.”

Frida is moving closer to her, like predator stalking prey. “And you’re ready now?”

 _The places were set for dinner… the tapestry… a child laughing, a Christmas tree…_ “Yes,” Lucille says, clenching her jaw so hard she feels as though her teeth might fracture. “I’m ready.”

* * *

“Madam President, Madam President!” Tina all but yells, throwing herself into Madam Picquery’s office. She stops, panting, and then realizes that Madam Picquery has a guest. He looks _exactly_ like her.

“This is my twin brother, Ewan,” Madam Picquery says wearily. “Ewan, this is Miss Goldstein.”

He appears to recognize her; Tina groans internally, not wanting to know what exactly he’s heard so far. “Nice to meet you, Miss Goldstein,” he says cordially.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” his sister asks, getting right to the point. It’s probably for the better.

“I found — I found this, Madam President, in Graham’s pocket.” She holds out the piece of paper.

“You were rooting around in the pockets of a dead man during a viewing?” Madam Picquery looks as though she might simply give up. “Miss Goldstein, there had better be a _very_ good reason for such inappropriate conduct —”

“No, no, it fell out,” Tina struggles to explain. “I think he wrote it before he was killed. Ma’am.”

“What does it say?”

“It’s an L and a W,” she says breathlessly. “L.W.” Madam Picquery looks blankly at her. “L.W.! Lucille Wadcock! She must have killed him, or had something to do with it. It’s a clue, it has to be.”

“That would be helpful if we had any information as to her whereabouts,” Madam Picquery says. “Until we understand more, I am afraid our options are limited.”

Tina flashes back to Sophia’s rather mind blowing pep talk this morning. “Yes,” she says, holding her head up, “our only option now is to be strong.”

The President looks mildly surprised. “You… that is correct.”

Tina feels imbued with some sort of strength, some sort of _motivation_ that hits her like a blinding light. She's going to find Lucille Wadcock. She's going to get to the bottom of this. She's going to avenge Graham not by killing, but by solving and fixing. She’s going to make his casual prophecy all those years ago come _true._ “We’re leaving tomorrow,” she informs Madam Picquery. “I'll find Lucille as soon as I can. I know she's out there.”

Madam Picquery seems unsure of how to respond. “Good,” she finally decides. “I sincerely hope you are successful.” Her eyes soften. “You are a courageous Auror, Tina.”

“Thank you. Ma’am.”

“We intend to investigate the curse that your sister saved you from. It was a miracle that she was able to Heal you like that.”

Doesn't Tina know it. “You don't need to tell me,” she replies sardonically.

“Unfortunately Mr. Fenwick was not so lucky. We believe he sustained the same curse as you.” Madam Picquery looks pained. “That was dark magic.”

“Did you get any information from Phillip?” Tina thinks to ask.

“Very little. He had something of a breakdown after being taken in and interrogated. All he would talk about was wanting to see his daughter again.”

“That's what Newt said.”

“He was a desperate man,” Madam Picquery says with a hint of sorrow. “I am afraid there are going to be many of these going forth.”

Ewan pats her on the knee. “Cheer up, sis,” he says. “A president’s no fun if she's gloomy all the time.” He winks at Tina. “It's gonna be okay.”

His sister gives a weak smile. “Thank you, Ewan.”

“Hey,” Ewan says, and waves his wand. Three shot glasses and a bottle of Gigglewater appear on the table between them.

“Ewan!” Madam Picquery admonishes him.

“What?” He looks at her, then rolls his eyes. “Oh, come on, an Auror’s just been killed, and you said yourself that Tina's a good employee. Who, y’know, was just cursed, almost killed, and then tortured. I think shots with the President are the least we can do.”

Tina can't believe her eyes or ears. If she’d been told that Madame Picquery had a twin brother, this is the last personality she would expect him to possess.

“Don't worry, she's not always that serious,” Ewan reassures Tina.

“It's my _job,_ Ewan,” Madam Picquery says sharply. Tina thinks she sounds rather like Sophia snapping at Newt.

“Yeah, I know, no one’s doubting you, but I'm just saying ya got a building full of miserable people, someone who just nearly sacrificed her life for her job, a guy who _did_ sacrifice his life, and about two million unanswered questions. A few shots aren't gonna hurt.”

Tina vaguely wonders if he's somehow related to Sophia, because they would probably get along quite well.

“It's decided then,” he announces when his sister doesn't try too hard to protest. He fills each shot glass and pushes one towards Tina. “Here's to fixing this messed up world,” is his heartwarming toast, and they all drink.

* * *

“You did shots with the President?” Sophia gapes.

“Um… yeah,” Tina replies.

“Cool, can _I?”_

“What? No,” Tina says, taken aback.

“Aren't you too young to drink?” Newt adds. Sophia glares at him. “Oh, right. Sorry.”

“So what’re we gonna do now?” Jacob asks seriously. “I mean, you guys are leavin’ what, tomorrow morning? And you can’t investigate this Lucille business ‘til you get there.”

“We should go to The Blind Pig,” Queenie suggests, looking pointedly at Sophia, who panics.

“No!”

“It’s barely noon,” Newt says in confusion.

“It was just a suggestion,” Queenie says defensively, looking crestfallen.

“Well, we can go back to the apartment then,” says Sophia. Then her face lights up. “Hey! Let’s go see the beasts.”

Everyone seems amenable to that, and so they walk home — _home —_ and waste no time in hopping right back into the case.

You can’t freeze time, as Sophia said, but sometimes it’s a waiting game. And, seeing as they’re all good sports (some slightly more so than others), they willingly participate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sadly, my winter break is winding to a close, and as such I am having to pace myself, so I can't keep posting chapters as soon as they are written — I need to hoard as many as I can! 
> 
> From now until the 23rd, I will definitely stick with daily updates, but once school begins I _may_ have to drop down to as few once or twice a week (hopefully more, but I absolutely won't go more than a week). I hate this so much because I have a lot written that I want to share. My next break is in March.
> 
> However, I promise that in the case of a cliffhanger, I will post both chapters so as not to leave anyone hanging. And I will post Intermissions with a chapter, although outtakes will have to be standalone.


	39. I should smile, that's exactly what I do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which tearful goodbyes are said, Sophia meets Ewan, Newt is acting sketchy, and we meet Momma Scamander.
> 
> The fact of the matter is that they’re essentially sprinting head first into situations where they could potentially be killed. Their only option may be strength, but knowing this does nothing to soften the blow of knowing that this could be their final goodbye.
> 
> Holding Queenie, having watched her save lives and grow to be such a strong, beautiful woman, is enough to make Tina’s stomach clench with some mixture of overwhelming emotion. At the end of the day, Queenie really is just that little 4-year-old girl who looked up to her sister and learned to be brave.
> 
> Chapter title from "April Showers" by B.G. DeSylva (1921)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Depending on how much writing I get done today, I'll post the follow-up chapter to this and then an intermission which should be of interest to many of you! 
> 
> Also, just visualizing Eddie's smile and laugh on Newt when he reunites with his brother makes me very happy.

_Week 4, Thursday_

It’s difficult saying goodbye to Queenie and Jacob, and Tina would be lying if she said she didn’t shed a few tears. She promises to be back soon, however — Newt looks a little shifty at that, which doesn’t bode well, but she can deal with _him_ later — and that she will definitely write. Jacob claps her on the back and says reassuringly that he knows she’ll do just fine; he pledges to always be around to do what he can to help, although he’s not nearly as qualified as “you magic folk.”

Tina hasn’t developed an exceptionally close relationship with her sister’s fiance, but he’s been an incredibly kind man who loves her sister very much and she’s told that he put on a brave show during the events on Tuesday. And, still every part the protective big sister, she’s relieved to know that Queenie is well cared for — despite the Legilimens’ phenomenal strength, even she has her weaknesses — and fiercely loved. It makes it slightly less stressful to leave like this.

Queenie (unsurprisingly) begs Tina to be careful, then turns to Sophia.

“I’m gonna miss you,” the Legilimens admits.

“Yeah, you too, sis.”

“Oh, enough of that hooey. A woman at All Dolled Up thought we was sisters,” she explains to the others.

“Yeah, but only ‘cause Queenie had to go and —”

“Sophie!” Queenie interjects.

Sophia dutifully stops talking, though Tina is certain that someday they’ll get the backstory. She’s had the chance to observe her sister’s relationship with Sophia in the past weeks, and it honestly warms her heart. Of course, Queenie’s fulfilled various aspects of the big sister role for a while, but now she gets to boss Sophia around and conspire with her in ways that Tina is simply too old to do. One might expect a certain level of jealousy, but Tina is (uncharacteristically, Sophia would probably say) supportive of this development. It’s wonderful both for Sophia to find a family and for the others to have found a new member of their own.

“Be careful, honey,” Queenie tells Newt, kissing him on the cheek. “Trust yourself,” she adds sternly, and looks at Tina as well. “Both of you. _Please.”_

“We will,” Tina assures her.

“It was a good time, Mr. Kowalski,” Newt says, shaking Jacob’s hand.

“You too, pal,” Jacob replies, and claps him on the back. “You be safe now.”

“I do hope things work out,” Newt says. “For both of you. Theseus said that if you want to come to England… you can.” He clears his throat awkwardly. “If you decide to.”

“Well, tell him thanks,” Jacob replies, speaking for both him and his fiancé. Tina is relatively certain that at this point they’re determined to wear Madam Picquery down, just for the satisfaction of it.

“Very well,” Newt says, with a little bob of his head. “Er… we’ll see you soon, then.”

Queenie’s lower lip is trembling, which doesn’t do anything to help Tina stay calm. The fact of the matter is that they’re essentially sprinting _head first_ into danger, into situations where they could potentially be killed. Their only option may be strength, but knowing this does nothing to soften the blow of knowing that this _could_ be their final goodbye.

“It’s okay,” Tina says to Queenie, exchanging one last hug and squeezing her eyes shut. She remembers, as she often does in times like these, when Ma and Pa died and she hugged Queenie just like this — refusing to let her little sister see her cry, holding back the tears as Queenie clung to her like a life raft.

She remembers the period of time in which neither of them had enough to eat, but she would often give Queenie her own food, because Queenie had always been such a spindly, weak child. Holding her, having watched her save lives and grow to be such a strong, beautiful woman, is enough to make Tina’s stomach clench with some mixture of nostalgia and pride and pain and happiness and sadness and fear all at once. Because at the end of the day, Queenie really is just that little 4-year-old girl who looked up to her sister and learned to be brave, learned to manage.

Newt grips her shoulder then, enough to ground her, force her into reality. With a shuddering sigh, she pulls away from her younger sister.

“Enough now,” Newt says gently, looking rather teary-eyed himself. Sniffling, Tina nods and forces a smile on her face.

“I love you,” she tells Queenie.

“I’ll see you soon, Teen,” Queenie says with fiery conviction, as though simply saying the words will be enough.

Tina gives one more nod, Sophia blows a kiss, Newt ducks his head awkwardly, and then they’re off.

* * *

“I’m so excited,” Sophia enthuses, skipping along the sidewalk. She had hung back during the farewells; Tina is certain she saw the 20-year-old wipe away her own tears, but the wonderful thing about Sophia is that she’s turned into the rock of the group in an unexpected way. She’s the comic relief, she’s the person who stands up and tells everyone they’re being idiots, she’s the one who reminds both Tina and Newt that they _aren’t_ helpless, that they can damn well save the world if they believe it strongly enough.

Newt has fallen strangely silent, however, which doesn’t escape either woman’s notice. Tina starts to open her mouth to say something, but Sophia shakes her head quickly. _Not now._ Concerned but resigned, Tina settles for looping her arm through his. He jolts at the contact, clearly off in his own world. What could possibly be the matter?

“So sorry… sorry,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “Erm… almost there.”

“We _know_ where MACUSA is,” Sophia points out.

He seems at a loss for words, but not in his typical _Merlin’s pants you are so irritating I don’t even know what to do with you sometimes_ fashion _._ “Hey,” Tina says, squeezing his arm. “Come back?”

He flashes an unconvincing smile. “Sorry, so sorry,” he apologizes again. “I’m — I’m fine.”

Tina looks at Sophia, who raises an eyebrow, then shrugs. _I don’t know,_ she mouths, which is _very_ bad news, because if Sophia can’t figure it out, no one can.

At any rate, they arrive on time and not bickering, which seems to pacify a perpetually stressed Madam Picquery. Ewan is still hanging around her office, trying to crack jokes as she tries to work, and waves when the trio enter.

“Whoa, you look alike,” Sophia observes when she sees him.

“We’re twins, so that would make a lot of sense,” Ewan replies, coming over. “Ewan Picquery.”

“Sophia Ollerton. Are you the one who did shots yesterday?”

He grins. “The very same.”

 _“Nice,”_ she says eagerly. “You know, I always _thought_ Tina could loosen up a bit, but I never thought alcohol could be as effective as Newt… no offense, big bro,” she says, looking kindly at Newt. “So, what’s it like being the President’s brother?”

“Much like being a famous author’s sister, probably,” he says, nodding at Newt. Sophia smirks, delighted.

“So, really annoying half the time,” she says.

He laughs. “Sounds about right. The other half is just telling her what to do, making sure she doesn’t have a _total_ mental breakdown… stuff like that.”

Sophia beams. “That’s _exactly_ what I do with Newt. Probably more than half the time, though.”

“I’m sorry — we aren’t _actually_ related,” Newt pokes his head in between the two. “Just — just thought I should mention that.”

Sophia rolls her eyes. “We _basically_ are,” she explains to Ewan, who doesn’t appear nearly as put off as the rest of the people in the room would be.

“I gotcha,” he says, winking conspiratorially.

“So have you been traveling?” she asks keenly.

He nods. “China, for a little. Wasn’t that interesting. They ate a lot of rice,” he contributes. “Seeing as that’s basically all I got out of it… then I saw what’s been going on with Grindelwald, so I thought I’d pop by and make sure Sera was still in one piece.” He casually hooks his arm around his sister’s neck, which is quite a comical image given that she’s still standing rigidly, incredibly presidential, and wearing her most regal robes. “She was, but barely.”

“If you ruffle my hair...” she warns him in an undertone. He pulls back his hand, because he was indeed about to do just that.

“I think we all feel like that,” Sophia says on a more serious note. “You know, barely in one piece. But no sense moaning and groaning about it… I mean, what can you do, really? Your only option now is to be strong.”

Both Ewan and Seraphina look at Tina sharply. She wants to hide behind a desk, but settles for staring at a fish tank that’s replaced the old fireplace.

Sophia, acute as always, notices this exchange and puts two and two together at alarming speed. “Oh my god, she used my line, didn’t she.”

“Just a little,” Ewan says, but looks at Tina sympathetically. “It was a really good line, though.”

“Where’s the Portkey?” Tina asks loudly. Right on cue, it arrives in the middle of the room, this time in the form of a rusted tin can. “Thank you, Madam President,” Tina thinks to say. “I’ll be in touch.”

“Good luck, Miss Goldstein. Mr. Scamander. Please stay out of trouble,” she says in a tone that indicates she knows that they probably won’t. “You too, Miss Ollerton.”

“It was swell meeting both of you,” Sophia replies. “Also, your brother is awesome. I kinda want to get rid of Newt and adopt him instead. Then again, I don’t think I’d wanna be the President’s sister — no offense, of course —”

Newt reaches out and grabs her arm, slamming her hand down on the Portkey, and they spin round and round until their feet hit grass. They’ve all gotten quite good at the landing, actually, although Tina still wobbles a bit. Newt once mentioned something about Sophia having a lower center of gravity and therefore finding it easier to stay upright; one can only imagine how well _that_ comment was received.

Getting their bearings, the trio look into the distance, where there’s a little village. Slightly to the left, however, someone is waving enthusiastically and coming towards them. He’s a few inches taller than Newt, but a lot more burly — exactly like Graham, Tina thinks sadly — and sports unruly ginger hair, a wide grin, and eyes identical to his brother’s.

“Oh my god, you’re Theseus!” Sophia shouts first, and tackles him in a bear hug. Given that he’s over a foot taller than her and probably three times as broad, it actually _does_ give the illusion of a bear cub clinging onto its mother. “I have so many questions for you about Newt —”

“Sophia!” Newt says sternly, dragging her off his brother. Then he beams and they throw their arms around each other, laughing. Tina can’t help but feel a surge of fondness; Newt is positively _adorable_ when he’s so genuinely excited, his neck getting all flushed and his smile threatening to split his face in half. He didn’t smile or laugh very much when they met — neither did Tina — and it’s been wonderful watching him develop whatever quality it is that seems to make him enjoy life just a bit more. When _he’s_ happy, Tina realizes, she is.

“Good to see you, Newton,” Theseus says heartily. He’s about twice the size of his gangly younger brother, which Tina finds strangely endearing, and his voice sounds as though someone’s cast a permanent Amplifying charm on it.

“You too, Theseus,” Newt replies, shaking his hair out of his eyes.

“And this must be your Miss Goldstein?” Theseus asks, stepping back to look at Tina with a warm twinkle in his eye.

 _Your Miss Goldstein._ “Call me Tina,” she says with a nervous little laugh.

“Nice to meet you, Tina.” He doesn’t react much to meeting her, but in a warm, “this doesn’t have to be a big deal” kind of way. Then he sets his hands on his hips and surveys the area. “Well, shall we?”

“Yes!” Sophia cries enthusiastically. Then, “Shall we what?”

“Wyverthwaite,” Theseus says, nodding at the village in the distance.

“Gesundheit,” Sophia says.

He smiles. “Wyverthwaite. It’s the village on our island.”

Newt suddenly stiffens beside Tina. _Our_ island? She glances over at him and he’s staring determinedly at his brother’s shoulder. Well _that’s_ not suspicious at all.

“It used to be a small center, you know, with shops and such. Over time it’s expanded into this” — he makes a sweeping gesture with his arm — “and people sometimes visit just to see it. Wizards, of course, although Muggle spouses can come past the —”

“Where are we eating lunch?” Newt asks quickly. Theseus looks at him sharply; Sophia elbows Theseus and the two have some sort of quick conversation with their eyes. Tina feels very lost.

“Winthrop’s,” Theseus replies smoothly. “It’s just up ahead, it’s a family favorite.”

“Fantastic fish and chips,” Newt says in a weird voice. What in the name of Eunice Frye is going on? Right on cue, Sophia turns around and mouths, _Don’t ask._

“Oh,” Tina says.

“So, should we have a conversation about what happened at MACUSA?” Theseus asks in a disapproving tone as they start walking.

“Er… what — I don’t recall —”

“Newton.” Theseus halts; Sophia crashes into him, which is rather like walking head first into a brick wall. “Sorry,” he apologizes, then turns to Newt. “This is a serious matter, and one which I promised Madam Picquery we would discuss. Another time, though,” he says, nodding at the two women to acknowledge their presence. “Perhaps after dinner.”

“Or perhaps _never,”_ Newt mutters, sounding remarkably like Sophia.

Winthrop’s proves to be a very nice restaurant, and indeed the fish and chips are fantastic. The four of them mill around the village after lunch. This otherwise enjoyable experience is somewhat ruined by Newt, who keeps interrupting his brother’s statements with rhetorical questions, spontaneous noises, and completely random observations. He also intermittently steers Tina away from various locations with mumbled explanations. She’s starting to lose it when Theseus suggests that they go say hello to Mrs. Scamander, who’s been expecting them, thus effectively pushing all thoughts from Tina’s mind except blinding panic at meeting Newt’s mother.

They Apparate straight into the front yard. A lovely cottage style house stands before them; it’s large, and very nice, with a little wooden gate, cobblestone path, and smooth oak door.

“Where’s Mum?” Newt asks as they step inside.

“She’s in the back finishing up the laundry,” Theseus replies. “Come on.”

Newt has never really mentioned his financial situation, although Tina is well aware that the success of his book has certainly filled up his money pouch. Now, as she admires the home, she figures that he was definitely more well off than she was (and is).

They file into some sort of extension of the kitchen, which looks simultaneously freshly painted and comfortably lived in. There’s an alcove in the corner, lined with benches attached to the wall, and a long bookcase with what appear to be family photographs on top (she and Sophia will no doubt have a field day over those later). One wall has another bookshelf affixed to it, this one constructed in a grid with cubes, and somebody has sorted the contents meticulously by color. Tina, who has discovered that her boyfriend is a simultaneously sloppy and fastidious person with something like selective perfectionism, wonders if he is responsible.

Newt walks over to the woman who currently has her back to them. “Mum, this is… this is Tina,” he says, sounding very anxious. She turns around.

“Hello, Mrs. Scamander,” Tina says graciously. Her heart is thumping rapidly and she wonders if everyone can hear.

“Oh, please, call me Elsie,” are the first words out of Elsie’s mouth.

Newt’s mom is shorter than both of her sons, with smile wrinkles framing her eyes (which are identical to Newt and Theseus’s). Otherwise, she doesn’t look very much like either Scamander: her hair is a deep, dark brown, almost black, and streaked with silver, and everything about her just seems a little softer and rounder. When she smiles, however, she looks strikingly similar to her youngest.

She’s wearing a modest Edwardian-style gown made of drapey, sheer white material. Its sleeves are loose and reach her elbows, while an ankle-length skirt features some very subtle floral embroidery at the bottom. The embroidery continues (more complicated and prevalent) onto the bust, leading to a neckline just above her collarbone. Although it’s a simple dress, based on the intricacy of the design and quality of the material, Tina gets the distinct feeling that it must have cost a pretty penny — or perhaps was custom made.

“Call her Elsbeth Evanthe if you’re mad,” Theseus puts in on his way upstairs with their luggage.

“He always did like to make fun of my name,” Elsie says with a sigh, shaking her head.

“I like it,” Tina says sincerely.

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing like _Newton Artemis Fido —_ hey!” Newt slaps his hand over Sophia’s mouth before she can finish. Then comprehension dawns. “Oh. _You_ chose that. Oops. It’s a lovely name,” she says unconvincingly, then gives a cheerful little wave. “I’m Sophia.”

“I’m glad to see you’ve made good use of Newton’s full name,” Elsie says, not in the least bit fazed. “His father and I always hoped somebody would.”

“Mum,” Newt complains.

“Be nice, Newt,” Sophia says in a voice that mocks both him and Tina and everybody else who’s ever told her to _be nice._

“I am perfectly nice,” he says indignantly.

“You wrung out a gallon of cold water on my head —”

“That’s because YOU impaled me when you knew I was holding a fork —”

“It wouldn’t have _happened_ if you’d _respected_ my height in the first place!” She scowls at him.

“Ah, I see what Madam Picquery meant when she warned Theseus,” Elsie says, looking at Tina in amusement.

“This is what I have to put up with on a daily basis,” Tina says with a sigh.

“Newton always did seem a bit lonely growing up. I didn’t expect him to find a sister at 30, but stranger things have happened.” Elsie pats Newt on the cheek fondly, then starts for the stairs. “Come on, then, I’ll show you your rooms.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some ramblings about characters:
> 
> I was thinking about Sophia playing this integral role in the trio's life. I modeled her humor after the Weasley twins, her spunk after Ginny, her role in the group after Ron, her intelligence after Hermione, her pep talks and perceptiveness with people after yours truly, and just the badass person I wish I could be.
> 
> I wanted to make Elsie a really sweet, patient woman, somewhat similar to Molly Weasley but a little less all over the place (although "NOT MY DAUGHTER YOU BITCH" is one of the best lines ever), who will no doubt be welcoming of Tina and Sophia.


	40. Just so long as we're together it doesn't matter at all

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tina is surprised, Sophia is a mind reader as always, and Newt is embarrassed. This chapter was titled "Newt is an angsty toddler" in my doc outline so...
> 
> “What was that about?” Elsie asks in dismay. “Was it something I said?”
> 
> “Nah,” Sophia says, inspecting her fingernails.
> 
> The women both stare at her.
> 
> “What? Oh — oh, you don’t get it, do you?”
> 
> Chapter title from "Side By Side" by Harry Woods (1927)

The upper floor is even nicer than the lower level; rustic rafters grace the ceiling, and there’s even a loft area with its own little nook. “All the bedrooms are up here,” Elsie informs them at the top of the stairs. “Sophia, this will be yours,” she continues, pushing open the door to reveal a  _ beautiful  _ room.

Its walls are painted a soft, creamy white; delicate, lacy curtains hang from chrome rods; there’s a matching dresser at one end, adorned with intricate floral designs; and the bed is big enough for three people. There are five large, fancy pillows arranged at the head, a thick white quilt sporting the dresser’s pattern, and the bedskirt matches the lace of the curtains. The ceiling, slanted on one end, follows the same rafter aesthetic as the hallway. Although it seems rather girly for Sophia’s taste — Newt and Tina exchange glances of _oh, she’s not going to like_ that — she evidently can’t contain her excitement and immediately flings herself onto the bed, dirty, grass-stained shoes and all.

“Sophia!” Tina hisses as a bit of mud rubs off on the immaculate bedding.

Elsie only looks amused. “That bed’s been empty for long enough. I always said, if the sheets aren’t stained and their knees aren’t scraped, the children didn’t have a good enough time.”

“See,” Sophia smirks, jumping to her feet.

“So have you always lived here?” Tina asks, still appreciating the room. “You have a  _ really  _ nice house.”

“Oh no, dear, this is just the guest house,” Elsie says. “We thought you might prefer to stay here.”

“The guest house?” Tina frowns. 

“This is a  _ huge _ guest house,” Sophia declares. “What’s the regular house, then?”

Elsie smiles. “Why, over there, of course.” She waves her wand and the curtains part, revealing an absolutely  _ breathtaking _ view. The guest house (which is about ten times larger than Tina’s apartment, maybe even twenty) is perched on a hill that slopes gently downwards on this side, giving way to a little beach. Crystalline water laps at the shore, and long grasses — similar to the ones in Newt’s case — wave in the wind. To the right is a boardwalk, which leads to…

“What  _ is _ that?” Sophia gasps, which is exactly what Tina would say if she could speak.

“Scamander Manor,” Elsie says, then registers their surprise and looks sternly at Newt. “Did you not tell them?”

“I…” he stammers, turning red.

“That silly boy,” she clucks to the two young women, then points. “That’s where the boys grew up. This is Scamander Island, you know, we’ve always owned it. I won’t bore you with the history, but it’s a well-known and well-loved location around here. Anyhow, once you’ve gotten settled I’ll show you around. If you change your mind and would like to stay at the house instead, it won’t be any trouble — really, don’t be shy! Our staff work  _ tirelessly _ and are some of the loveliest people you’ll meet around here.”

Tina and Sophia have both gone slack-jawed. Tina was already adjusting to the niceness of the guest house, but a manor? An entire  _ island? _

Sophia, who’s accustomed to a bit more money than Tina given that she’s been raised in a stable home by two government employees, is equally stunned; the guest house, while less of a shock for her than for Tina, was still a luxury in and of itself. The prospect of having the means to casually own a massive manor and run an island is… mind blowing.

And here’s Elsie, chattering away as though this is entirely normal. “We’ll have dinners there, of course — other meals, too, if it suits your fancy; our house-elves are tremendous chefs, the Sunday brunch banquets are always a treat — and perhaps even a  _ ball _ if our neighbors should feel compelled to show up… they’ve been rather flaky in the past few months, but who can blame them? We’re perfectly safe here because of the protection spell” — she looks sagely at Tina and Sophia, ostensibly assuming that they’re familiar with all of this — “but they still worry so. Poppy will be delighted to see you, Newtie,” she adds, and despite Tina’s  _ please-do-not-say-anything _ warning glare Sophia can’t help but snort.

“Yeah, you might not want to call him that,” she informs Elsie. Newt refuses to look at his mother as Sophia explains, “See, his little fan club calls themselves Newties, it’s absolutely disgusting, but also pretty funny watching him try to ward off a bunch of 16-year-old girls… actually, no,  _ definitely _ call him Newtie.”

“Newton!” Elise admonishes him. “I had no idea about a  _ fan _ club!”

Sophia beams. “They’re  _ totally _ goofy, Mrs. Scamander, you don’t even  _ know, _ and they all want to  _ touch  _ him and he signed one of their  _ arms _ the other day —”

“Mum, should we be getting ready for dinner?” Newt asks loudly.

Elsie looks startled. “I’ll have to speak with Theseus, see if the house-elves are ready, but if you’d like to start dinner soon I don’t —”

“Good,” he says shortly, and sweeps out of the room.

* * *

“Okay, which one of us is gonna go after him?” Sophia sighs resignedly the moment he leaves. The two other women are frozen, looking confused (Tina) and hurt (Elsie). “Should we draw straws?”

“What was  _ that _ about?” Elsie asks in dismay. “Was it something I said?”

“Nah,” Sophia says, inspecting her fingernails.

The women both stare at her.

“What? Oh —  _ oh,  _ you don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?” Tina asks, brow furrowed.

She gapes at both of them. “I thought you’d — but he’s  _ so _ easy to read!”

“I daresay you may be the only person on this island who could say that,” Elsie says with a tinge of amusement.

“Well, it’s about Tina.” Sophia pauses and rolls her eyes. “Honestly, if he leaves the room in a fit, it’s almost  _ always _ about Tina. Like, 95% of the time, guaranteed.”

Tina looks bewildered. “What did I do? I didn’t say a thing —”

“No, you didn’t.” She sighs. “He’s never said anything about all of this to you, has he? I mean, you know about his family and all that, but he left out the part where he was  _ filthy _ rich — no offense, of course,” she says kindly to Elsie.

“I — he never said anything about having a manor, or an island,” Tina admits.

“Right. ‘Cause he didn’t want you to know. He’s embarrassed — oh, not because of  _ you,”  _ she says dismissively to Elsie, who’s looking increasingly distraught, “but because he worships the ground you  _ walk _ on, and he has this dumb idea in his head that you’ll think less of him if you know he came from so much money.”

“Why would I…?”

“Because you’re this hard-working career girl and you’ve been through some  _ serious _ shit in your life — sorry, Mrs. Scamander, but she really has — so he feels guilty that he had a pretty damn easy childhood and you didn’t.”

“You can’t help the family you were born into,” Tina points out.

“Newt isn’t known for being exceptionally rational when it comes to you, or anything in general,” Sophia states matter-of-factly. “His solution is to run. Which I  _ thought _ we’d worked on,” she says stormily, “but this is a different situation than his attention phobia, I guess. This is… well, I don’t know what this is. Embarrassment, Newt Scamander style, which of course has to be a  _ whole _ big deal. That  _ idiot _ — sorry, Mrs. Scamander, I love him but he’s an idiot… whatever. Anyway, I think the vote is that  _ you”  _ — she points at Tina — “can go hunt him down.

“If you only knew the amount of couples counseling I’ve given these two,” she says as an aside to Elsie, sounding as though she’s been through ten wars and a few battles to boot, “they’ve only just decided to start  _ talking _ to each other about things… anyway, Tina, you go find him and talk some sense into his head.”

“I —” Tina starts. 

“I should’ve  _ known _ he would do something like this, so sorry, Mrs. Scamander,” she apologizes again. “I mean,  _ you’re _ the mother, but to be honest I feel like he’s my 5-year-old son who just came over for dinner and threw a tantrum during hors d'oeuvres.”

Elsie seems as incapable of words as Tina. “I —” 

“I suppose if he was my son he’d be more likely to embarrass us by opening up a case of beasts while we’re enjoying a nice cocktail,” Sophia muses. “At any rate. What, do I have something on my face? Why are you staring at me like that?”

“You do understand Newton very well,” Elsie says. “I had no idea this was going on in that funny little brain of his. You just… knew? He hasn’t said a word about it?”

“Nope. I understand that funny little brain, I guess,” Sophia shrugs, then turns to Tina. “Off you go, Teen,” and she pushes the Auror firmly out the door. Tina goes, looking mildly dazed. “So,” Sophia says briskly, turning to Elsie. “What d’you think is for dinner?”

* * *

Newt is just down the hallway in the room Tina assumes they’re sharing.  _ If _ Elsie decided to put them together, that is — which, being Newt’s mother and evidently  _ very  _ upper class, she probably didn’t. When Tina comes in, he’s staring out the window, shoulders slumped.

“Hey.”

He flinches, but doesn’t turn around.

“Newt, why didn’t you tell me?” she asks.

He turns around slowly, then stares at the ground and shuffles his feet. “I just… didn’t want you to think differently of me.”

What? “Why would I think differently of you?”

“Because you’re so — so down to earth. You’ve worked hard for your money, and I… I’ve had…  _ this.”  _ He gestures to the entire area.

“Newt, no,” she murmurs, walking over to him. “You shouldn’t be ashamed of your past.”

“Yes, but you — you’ve worked so hard and suffered so  _ very _ much, and… I  _ lied _ to you, Tina. I deliberately left this out when we talked about our families.”

She crosses the room and hugs him, pulling his head down to rest on her shoulder. It reminds her suddenly, achingly, of when she woke up after being tortured and saved, when he buried his face in her neck and held on so desperately. “Newt, it’s fine,” she says softly. “I’m not gonna think less of you.”

“Yes, but you see —”

She pulls away and grips his face in her hands, begging him to believe her for once. “Newt. I’m not going to think differently of you,” she says fiercely. “It doesn’t matter where you’re from. It’s not as though you’re telling me that Gellert Grindelwald is your favorite cousin and he’ll be the guest of honor at dinner tonight,” she says, and he gives a little laugh. “Okay? I don’t care if you were rich or poor. You didn’t lie to me. You told me the truth about your childhood. You didn’t make _ up _ the relationship you had with Theseus and your mom, or the adventures you went on.”

“I don’t want you to feel… uncomfortable.”

That’s a fair point. She has to think before she can respond. “It’s not uncomfortable,” she says carefully. “It’s a little disconcerting, but I’m sure I’ll get used to it. If anything, I think it’s remarkable that you grew up around this and managed somehow not to be conceited about it.”

“I never really liked being wealthy,” he admits. “It felt… unjust.”

Tina smiles softly.  _ This is what I love about you.  _ “See, you're genuine and ridiculously modest. Also, the money you’ve made off your book, you  _ have  _ worked for. You’ve saved a city for, in fact. So don’t sell yourself short, Mr. Scamander.”

He ducks his head. “I’m afraid that I’m rather accustomed to selling myself short.”

“Don’t tell Sophia that. She’ll drag you out of dinner and go yell at you in front of all the —  _ is _ anybody coming to dinner?”

“Erm… perhaps.”

“Newt!”

“It depends!” he says defensively. “In the past, we often ate with our neighbors, particularly when we had guests. But Mum said they haven’t come around so much lately.”

“Oh  _ Mercy,  _ am I going to have to sit in a room of diplomats?” Tina groans.

“It’s quite alright, they’re all nice. There are only a  _ few _ who are Very Important members of society.”

“That’s… not reassuring at all,” she says faintly.

He takes her hand and tugs her towards the door. “You’ll be perfectly fine. Mum likes you, Soph will quite willingly steal the show if need be, and…” He pauses and turns to face her. “I’ll be here.”

Tina thinks back once again to what Graham had said that time in the corridor.  _ There will always be someone who wants to help you.  _ Somehow, despite what she might have hopelessly thought a few years ago, she’s found one.

“Come on,” Newt says when she doesn’t move. “Let’s go save the world.”

And they do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, this kicks off some coupley angst followed by coupley fluff and then hella action, so hang in there!
> 
> Also, your author has a major competitive streak and it's a problem, because I focus way too much on numbers and feel bad when I don't have a lot of hits, then unfairly irritated when I see other people's works which I don't think are that well-written getting like over 10k *hides face in hands* 
> 
> But I have this philosophy where like if even one person is reading and enjoying (or, on my blog, if I'm helping even one person) then my job is done! I mean, I'd write whether I got a million hits or not, but it's always nice reinforcement. I really appreciate my regular commenters though and I'm lucky to even have that!


	41. Intermission, Part VI: Scamander Island & Manor

I don’t go into these places too much, so I thought I would offer a brief rundown of the history behind them.

* * *

Scamander Island hosts a number of dwellings (their neighbors), but the most prominent feature is Scamander Manor. It also borders a small village called Wyverthwaite (“wyver” rhymes with “quiver” + “thwaite” rhymes with “wait”), named for the legendary wyvern of medieval English heraldry.

The area is concealed so that Muggles don't know of its existence (although, as Theseus nearly explains to Tina before Newt cuts him off, Muggles can visit with their witch or wizard spouses). Its nearest known location is Berwick-upon-Tweed, a town in the county of Northumberland which is the northernmost town in England, located two and a half miles (4 km) south of the Scottish border, at the mouth of the River Tweed on the east coast. Scamander Island itself is located in the North Sea, not far from land.

It came into existence (as we know it, at least) in 1066, when the Battle of Fulford occurred near York, Yorkshire, which was followed by another battle and a great deal of unrest. Theseus Scamander, wishing to protect his wife (Hippolyta) and children (Alice, Benedict, and Gwyneth), decided to evacuate before things got further out of hand. When they hopped on a dragon intending to fly eastward, it landed on this island, which hadn’t been touched for centuries.

Theseus, being an able and forward thinking wizard, took it in stride and put up advanced — but not exceptionally so — protective spells for the time being, similar to the ones that The Golden Trio use in DH. The Scamanders built a modest shack (the island was quite small at first) and lived there comfortably for a few months. During this time, Theseus took great care of the island, weeding areas that had never been weeded, moving rocks and stones, gently studying the local flora and fauna, and restoring the island to its original vibrant beauty. Eventually, other wizards began fleeing England, Scotland, and Norway, and strangely enough kept landing on the island no matter which mode of transportation they took. Inexplicably, the island continued to expand to accommodate for new arrivals. Newcomers had to build their own houses, with the help of Theseus and Hippolyta.

A consortium of families formed then between the Scamanders, Winthrops (for whom the restaurant where Newt, Tina, Theseus, and Sophia eat lunch is named), and Pembrokes. Theseus became the leader, as he was fair, attentive, and had discovered the island in the first place, with Edna Winthrop and Sean Pembroke as his advisors and second in command. In 1076, the three families oversaw the start of Scamander Manor, intended to be used as a central location for all of Scamander Island’s inhabitants. The manor appeared to partially build itself and was finished in no time. It was initially used for meetings, social events, and large island-wide banquets.

Obviously the island had some magic attached to it, but inhabitants didn’t fully understand how _much_ magic until a group of wizard pirates from the nearby settlement of Canin attempted to attack the island. The Scamanders were unprepared to protect themselves — but were willing to fight valiantly and die regardless — when the pirates were forcefully repelled as they neared the borders. All of their spells were deflected, and the sea suddenly reared up and swept them away. It would seem that the protective charms cast by Theseus had stuck and turned into something much more comprehensive.

With this realization, however, came the concern that inhabitants who left the island would be unable to return. Edna Winthrop, being one of the most cherished and revered leaders of Scamander Island to this day, bravely volunteered to be the guinea pig. They arranged for Scamander Guard to find her if she didn’t return by nightfall. There was also the issue of nobody knowing how bad the situation was back on land, and thus she ran the risk of potentially landing in the middle of a bloodbath.

She said her goodbyes, trepidation reigning as her friends and family realized she may not be able to return, and Disapparated. Everyone waited with bated breath: barely two minutes later, she suddenly Apparated right back where she had been standing. So it seemed that those with good intentions could come and go from the island, while those with bad intentions could not. They discovered later that owls could also come and go, opening up channels of communication. Very few wizards knew about it other than family members of those who had accidentally landed there. It was a destination that could be specified when traveling via Portkey, Apparation, dragon, and so on — it just wasn't well-known.

Wyverthwaite wasn’t established until after Theseus’s death. It was the last extension to spontaneously appear on the island, and the protection spells proved to extend over the village as well. The inhabitants built the town in half the time it would normally take, aided by whatever ancient magic governed their island, and thus it remained through the 20th century.

It is believed that while the reasons for the island’s original existence and the Scamanders’ appearance on it are uncertain, it grew to be the safe haven that it is because of the immense care and dedication Theseus demonstrated. Just as Newt treats his creatures, Theseus treated the island and its flora and fauna with respect, and it paid his kindness forward. He remains a local hero and, as a result, there are a number of children still being born with the same name.

* * *

Phew, that wasn’t very brief! Anyway, I didn’t want to cut into the actual story with all this information, so I thought I would put it here and you can skip over it if you want because it isn’t critical to the plotline. It's all very interesting though!


	42. We'll be the same as we started

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lucille is inspired, Sophia doesn't like dresses, Newt is acting weird, and Elsie is as good at pep talks as her new honorary daughter.
> 
> “You see, much of life — the majority of life — is simply what you make of it. If you know that you are strong, then you are strong. No amount of frills or pearls or gowns will change that. You will not lose your identity to anything, because you have the power to have chosen that identity.”
> 
> Tina wonders if she’s fallen through the looking glass.
> 
> “When you fear change, that is when you give change the power to affect and weaken you. Do not give it that power,” Elsie says simply.
> 
> Chapter title from "Side By Side" by Harry Woods (1927)

Lucille feels a sense of very unwelcome nostalgia as she lands on her home turf. It's been so long since she dropped out of Hogwarts, regretted it, managed to graduate, and sent herself hurtling down the path she's on now.

She had been a Slytherin, the first of her family, and while none of them cared, _she_ did. She cared because no matter how kind the headmaster or how friendly the peers, there was always a level of inter-house rivalry and prejudice. If a Gryffindor ran off the grounds crying, there was sure to be an envoy of supporters. If a Slytherin did, they were either suspected of malintent or simply dismissed.

 _You're just a…_ She flinches: not now. Preferably never. Revisiting her childhood is the most counterproductive — destructive, even — thing she could be doing.

Shaking her head, she stands across the street from her old house just a moment longer, pretending that the warm lights and figures moving inside don't bother her, before casting a Disillusionment Charm and slinking through the darkness to her new, purposefully dingy headquarters.

* * *

It turns out that Elsie did indeed intend for Tina and Newt to share a room, which she states quite factually, as though there was never any doubt. “That’s your room, of course,” she says as they pass it on their way back to the stairs. “We’ve all taken it in turns to spend time here, you know, get away from the manor for a bit,” she explains when Sophia comments on the fact that the guest house seems rather lived in. “And of course visitors have stayed for any length of time. Just to recover, some of them, or to wait around until we’ve figured out a plan. We don’t have many people coming and going anymore...” She bites her lip. “It had to be one of the stipulations, or else we’d be overrun.”

“What is?” Sophia asks.

Elsie sighs, hating to admit this. “Although this does operate under an impenetrable protection spell, we can’t hold runaways or Aurors and the like — with the exception of you, of course,” she reassures Tina hurriedly. “If things get worse, which it seems they very well may, the council will have to decide whether we could at least be a safe house. It seems obvious that we should just be sending every endangered person here, but unfortunately there is work to be done. Somebody has to be strong,” she says sadly, looking at the Auror in the room.

They take seats in the large, comfortable parlor. Newt intentionally slides onto the loveseat between Sophia and Tina, as though looking for an excuse to get closer to her. Elsie observes his tentativeness in amusement.

“D’you see what I mean?” Sophia says to Elsie, sounding incredibly jaded. “I mean, jeepers... you can put your arm around her, you know,” she tells Newt. “It’s not like you’re a couple or anything. I’m pretty sure your mom  _expects_ you to act like a couple, and I think I’ve made _my_ opinion on the matter _more_ than clear. Also, I’d much rather not be squished by you — your elbow is really bony, by the way, you should eat more."

Tina refrains from rolling her eyes; Newt looks incredibly uncomfortable and preoccupied. Which he’s looked since they got here... Tina makes a note to _communicate_ with him later.

Sophia isn't finished (then again, when is she _ever_ really finished?). “I’d kinda like to hear what the plan is now, so if everyone could just act normal... you specifically,” she says, poking Newt in the ribs, causing him to jerk suddenly. Her eyes widen. “Are you _ticklish?”_ she asks, jaw dropping ecstatically.

“No,” he says quickly and unconvincingly.

She looks at Elsie, who nods. Her face splits into a grin. “This is _amazing_ news — Newt! You never — this is so... okay, sorry,” she apologizes, settling back in her seat. “We’ll discuss _that_ later.”

There’s a second of awkward silence as Elsie and Sophia look to the elephant couple in the room, before Newt finally moves and rests his arm along the back of the seat.

“So,” Sophia says, “what’re we gonna do from here?”

“Well, I’m not certain what customs you girls may be used to, but at Scamander manor there are often several outfit changes.” She glances at Sophia’s attire, which consists of knickers once again. “For each part of the day. I’ll be changing before we walk over there, and change again before dinner.

“It would seem,” she says kindly, correctly interpreting both women’s expressions, “that you are not accustomed to that habit. Oh, Newton, don’t do that,” she says sternly as he turns bright red and puts up a great show of trying to disappear into the cushions. “We would be happy to provide some extra clothes.

“In fact, I daresay our tailors have been rather frustrated with their lack of work — after about three rooms full of gowns, it does get a bit much, and with the boys gone... so if we meet them at their private shop or invite them here, I’m sure they can whip something up for you in a jiffy.” She looks expectantly at Tina and Sophia.

“That would... that would be very nice of you,” Tina says. She can’t help but feel a little uneasy at the prospect of such wealth, when she’s gone through life owning about four different outfits. “If it’s an inconvenience...”

“Not at all!” Elsie exclaims, as though Tina has just implied that they might go out and kill a bunch of people after dessert. “We’ll go straight there, then... Newt can have some time with his brother, I expect. I hear that you two have an important conversation,” she says to Newt, her eyes flashing a bit in heated disapproval, “and I expect you to be _quite_ respectful.”

He looks glumly down at his hands.

“Very well, very well,” she says to the others, and Tina notices that her cheeks get as flushed as Newt’s do when she’s excited.

“Could we maybe not?” Sophia suggests a bit timidly as they all make to stand up.

Tina and Newt both shoot her Looks.

“It’s just, y’know.” She gestures to herself. “I’m not the most stylish of people...”

“You have some nice outfits,” Tina points out. “She does have dresses,” she assures Elsie. “She usually wears, uh... these types of clothes when she’s working.”

“I wear skirts,” Sophia says indignantly. [“I own exactly _three_ dresses.”](https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B5AtdMOKcovPTG54bEZCQWFkMkU/view?usp=sharing)

“Of course, I won’t _force_ you into it,” Elsie says after a beat in which she seems to assess Sophia in a very maternal manner, “but it can turn out to be quite fun, trying on new clothes. You can boss the tailors around,” she adds, knowing that _this_ may be the selling point more than anything. “They’re very kind and won’t object unless you want something truly scandalous or inappropriate, which I can’t see either of you requesting.”

“I just... the thing is,” Sophia struggles to explain, and for perhaps only the second time in the past five weeks Tina catches a glimpse of vulnerability. “The thing is that I don’t really... well, part of it is convenience, you know, can’t really chase after a bunch of magical beasts in a dress, but I just... I’ve always valued _independence._ And I’m scared that if I start being all girly, especially ‘cause I know I look so young” — Newt looks extraordinarily guilty at this — “they’ll take me even _less_ seriously and think I’m just some silly little girl. It’s... it’s dumb, I know.” She stares down at the ground.

Elsie’s gaze softens, then she strides over and warmly embraces Sophia. “It isn’t dumb in the slightest,” she says firmly, pulling away but keeping one arm around the 20-year-old. “I expect that every woman on this planet has experienced the same fear at some point or other.

“I might make an argument for dresses,” she continues, “because sometimes hidden strength is all the more powerful. I’ve worn dresses my whole life,” she says, gesturing to herself, “and not a _soul_ might suspect that I’ve saved countless lives, that I’ve lead this island for nearly 30 years, and that I’ve fought in battles that only men would have been expected to fight in.

“You are both powerful women,” she puts her other arm around Tina, “and clothing needn’t change anything. I would never _make_ you do anything uncomfortable,” she tells Sophia, “but you are a beautiful young woman” — Newt glowers at this, no doubt thinking about flirtatious young men — “and you may surprise yourself.”

She gestures for them to sit again; Tina and Sophia do, while Newt, evidently excluded from the conversation, takes a few steps away from the couch and puts his hands in his pockets. His expression is one of mild distress, distraction, and something just a bit _off._

Elsie notices this shrewdly, but says nothing to him as she continues, “You see, one of the lessons I’ve learned as a mother and as something of a _warrior_ is that much of life — the majority of life — is simply what _you_ make of it. If you know that you are strong, then you are strong. No amount of frills or pearls or gowns will change that. You will not lose your identity to anything, because you have the power to have _chosen_ that identity.”

Tina wonders if she’s fallen through the looking glass. She glances at Newt, who doesn’t seem the least bit surprised by this extraordinary speech.

“When you fear change, that is when you give change the power to affect and weaken you. Do not give it that power,” Elsie says simply. She lets this sink in, then asks, “Now. What would you like to do? I’m certain my boys’ conversation can wait — perhaps you and Newt might explore the area while Tina and I meet with the tailors.”

Sophia looks at Newt hesitantly, who snaps out of his reverie and returns her gaze, and both Tina and Elsie are suddenly struck by the bond between the two misfits. Sophia stands and walks over to him. “What d’you think I should do?” she asks quietly. “I know it’s dumb, it’s just dresses, it shouldn’t be a big deal, but... d’you think I should...?”

Newt frowns. “It isn’t dumb at all,” he says slowly. “I... I’m afraid I’m a rather terrible informant on these matters, but I — it seems to me that change is a bit of a _good_ thing and — and you _are_ what Mum said... erm, a power — powerful woman, which I’m given to understand is not going to be affected if you change what you wear. I couldn’t care less about these sorts of things — clothes, I mean — although I did —” He looks over at Tina suddenly, and the tips of his ears go scarlet before he hastily changes tack, “What I mean to say is that in my opinion — and I must admit I never thought I might have an opinion on fashion — y-you would be best off going along with Mum and Tina.”

Sophia looks at him for a moment. “Wow, that was the _longest_ ‘yes’ I’ve ever heard. Sorry you had to listen to that,” she apologizes to the room’s other occupants. Then she hugs Newt, who (much to his mother’s surprise) hugs her back. “Thanks, big bro.” She turns to Tina and Elsie, chipper once more. “Well, I guess we should get going!”

Tina catches Newt by the arm as they leave. “Hey. That was really good,” she says quietly.

He seems unable to respond. What in the name of Deliverance Dane is his problem? She moves to walk away, but out of nowhere, he grabs her hand and — in front of his mother! — kisses her. “Sophia said,” he says defensively, misinterpreting Tina’s shocked expression.

“No, it’s... I’ll see you later,” she says, flustered, and catches up to Sophia and Elsie.

* * *

Lucille always seduces, but never goes through with anything, breaking promises left and right. She enjoys the thrill of the chase and the fact that she can play mind games with these gullible people, wizard and Muggles alike. Find their weaknesses and exploit them. Most of the time it's for her own sadistic pleasure. Sometimes, though, it comes with intent. Whether she recognizes this intent now or later depends.

She enters the tavern at around half past eight. The bartender recognizes her, as this used to be one of her haunts, but he keeps his mouth shut. He doesn't side with anyone; she isn't even sure he knows her name. He just minds his own business, mixes drinks, and doesn't get in trouble.

Lucille orders a whiskey and glances over at the couple sitting next to her, a young man and woman who are chatting animatedly. Annoying, but not overly disruptive. She drinks slowly, twirling the glass around between manicured fingers, until a fragment of their conversation catches her attention. It’s a name: Newt Scamander.

She hasn't considered Newt Scamander since… well, she never _really_ considered him. However, thinking twice now gives her an idea. It won't directly benefit her cause, of course, but nothing is direct these days. If she can pull this off, her own plans might just kick into action a little sooner. One prominent component of doing what she does is that although nobody really cares for the other people’s agendas, trades are often made. “If I do this for you, you will do this for me.” If she can pitch this idea...

She slams down the rest of her whiskey, winks at the fellow who's been ogling her all evening, and leaves the tavern. There's someone she needs to see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we have some, like, MAJOR fluff (hint: water fight) coming up after a chapter about dresses, an intermission with photos of the dresses, and then the fateful dinner, which does not go well. Shockingly, Sophia has competition and barely gets a word in edgewise, but don't worry, there will certainly be upcoming scenes where she gets to have her say. I ended up having to cut a childhood anecdote about Newt and a giant squid, but I'll save that for the future, because it really was marvelous. And there may be a ball in the distant future... ;)
> 
> Thanks also for all the comments, they really help motivate me <3


	43. Everything is lovely when you start to roam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sophia wears a dress, Lucille is up to something, and Elsie reflects on Newt's behavior.
> 
> Her darling boy. If there had been any doubts about the solidity of his and Tina’s relationship, they were quelled the moment she saw them look at each other. Her only fear when it comes to Newt and the business of love is that he will retreat too far and shy away too much. Sophia seems to be keeping that in check, however, and as Elsie always taught her sons, worrying means you suffer twice.
> 
> Chapter title from "My Mammy" by Sam M. Lewis and Joe Young (1921)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I caved, because I think I'm going to give you guys two chapters. This + an intermission, and the chapter after that, because this chapter doesn't have a whole lot of action.

Kirsten and Bertram O’Donahue are Elsie’s two most trusted tailors, and Tina and Sophia can quickly see why. They work efficiently, have twin warm smiles, and seem to intuitively understand their creations. Kirsten works with Tina; Bertram gets Sophia.

“Just something to wear to dinner, I think,” Elsie instructs both of them. “We can come back for more, of course, but our schedule is a bit tight at the moment.”

“Not a problem,” Bertram reassures her. Then he turns to Sophia, every part the experienced tailor. “So, tell me about your style.”

She fidgets. “Um… I don’t like dresses. Which is gonna be problematic, since I’m here to get a dress.”

He’s unfazed. “What do you like about the outfit you’re wearing now?”

“I guess I hate frills and beads, and middy blouses are comfortable and simple. Uh… I work outside a lot, so I hate not being able to move around. I don’t like the drop waist thing ‘cause I’m so short it makes my legs look weird. And I kinda like making a statement when I wear masculine clothes… I just feel, um… stronger, I guess? And I like bright colors,” she adds.

Bertram smiles. “I have an idea,” he says, and waves his wand. A bust appears, then quickly shrinks down to match Sophia’s body frame. Another wave and a large sketchbook materializes, along with a set of colored pencils. “These were made in ‘24,” Bertram says, seeing Sophia look at them keenly. “Faber-Castell and Caran d'Ache. But that probably means nothing to you.” He picks up the pencil and begins drawing with deft, confident lines. “I think we’ll go with an A-line and a full skirt. It will be different from the current style” — he nods at Tina and Kirsten, who are poring over a series of modern dress patterns — “but not so different everyone will turn and stare. The waist… not _too_ pronounced so as to be uncomfortable. I take it you’re not a fan of patterns?”

She shakes her head. “Not really.”

He smiles. “Then we’ll go with solid colors. And you like bold, you said?”

Sophia bites her lip, feeling very out of her element. “Yes… reds and blues, yellows too.”

“I’m thinking a cardinal red with black.” He choses pencils at lightning speed, swatching a few colors before setting his favorites aside. “A plain neckline will work nicely.” He draws a shallow, swooping line. “And for the back… something _very_ simple.” He draws a V and what looks like a T shape in the middle, creating two upside-down right triangle shaped cutouts, although the hypotenuse is rounded out slightly. “We could either go with differently colored bodice and skirt, or all red with black decoration.”

“Whatever’s simplest,” Sophia says, beginning to feel both awed and a little guilty for being picky.

“Let’s try all red, some black embroidery on the bodice… a little on the skirt, but barely.” Catching her expression at “embroidery” he smiles. “It will be subtle, and I can makes changes later. Now, for fabric.” He Summons a rack of various cloths. “Lace can be itchy and catch on things. Cotton voile isn’t too fancy — I imagine you would never survive in silk. We’ll stick to practical fabrics.” He scribbles a little more on the paper, then holds it up for Sophia. “Good?”

She has to admit, if she’s going to wear anything remotely fancy, this would certainly be the one.

“Excellent.” He begins to move his wand around, a look of concentration on his face, and appears to trace an outline of the dress, wand tip a few inches away from the bust itself. The fabrics undulate lazily through the air, shaped by his ministrations, and in less than a minute the dress is complete.

“Hot dawg!” Sophia blurts out, beyond impressed at this point.

“Shall we try it on?”

“Um… I guess.”

He leads her to a private, curtained area. “I made the fastenings very easy, so you should have no trouble, but Elsie will assist should you find yourself stuck somehow. Come out when you’re ready.”

“Okay,” Sophia agrees with some trepidation. She strips down to her underwear and then holds the dress aloft. “Here goes nothing.”

* * *

“It could work,” Brian McCaffrey says once Lucille has made her case. McCaffrey was a classmate at Hogwarts, the only other Slytherin or student she developed any kind of relationship with.

“How definite?”

“It will depend on a bunch of variables, but if you give me a day or two, I’ll see what I can do.”

“I would prefer options,” she notes, then adds, “I will, of course, compensate you and implement the plan myself. I just need you to do this particular portion of the prep work.”

“I'll do what I can,” he says firmly, standing up and opening the lopsided, slightly moldy wooden door. “Good to see you again, Lu.”

“You too, McCaffrey.” She inclines her head slightly and sets off down the back alley, jacket draped fashionably over her narrow shoulders — all black, sharp lines and angles — heels clicking away and slicing through the shallow puddles that have collected on the pavement.

“Hey, Lucille?”

She stops, but doesn't turn around.

“How many more people you gonna kill ‘til you get what you want?”

She can't tell if there's malice or curiosity, support or disapproval, in the question. It's phrased evenly, and Brian has always understood her darkness. He’s just agreed to her plan, after all. A plan that could change things significantly. “However many it takes,” she replies, never looking back, and Disapparates.

* * *

Elsie is having a very enjoyable day. She’s always wanted a daughter, much as she loves her sons, and Tina and Sophia have been delightful. Tina seems rather reserved (particularly compared to Sophia), but she’s clearly a nice woman, and Newt is definitely smitten with her. Sophia, on the other hand… well, nobody can really give an adequate warning when it comes to her. It was interesting and heart-wrenching to see the girl fumble and try to explain her fear of not being taken seriously; what strikes Elsie even more is the way the 20-year-old looked to her _son_ for guidance. Their relationship is strong and evident, and although Elsie hardly knows the young woman, she’s certain that Newt needs her as much as she needs him.

Oh, Newton. His peculiar behavior hasn’t escaped her attention. Tina obviously had a talk with him, but for whatever reason it would seem that it didn’t quite stick. Newt has always been awkward, avoidant of social situations and poor at expressing emotions. If Sophia is to be believed, meeting Tina has at least _started_ the slow process of developing the ability to communicate on behalf of both parties.

Is he still concerned that the Scamanders’ wealth will affect Tina’s opinion of him? Or is it something else, something deeper? She would hope that he’s not worrying about his own family scaring Tina away; as quirky as she and Theseus are, they are hardly the type to inadvertently ward off visitors. From what Theseus has mentioned of their letter exchanges, Tina is a very nice person, cares a great deal about Newt, and is overall quite pleasant. Elsie simply can’t see the Auror scattering just because Newt’s life has been so radically different from her own.

 _Auror._ She forgot about that momentarily, swept up in the exhilaration of guests and reuniting with her son. Tina’s here on a mission. Newt’s workspace is relatively portable, although she won’t be surprised if he takes off soon enough — he never could stay in the same place — but Tina has an actual assignment. A dangerous assignment. Which, she now realizes, could be what’s ailing her son the most. Now that they’re home, not only has he had to contend with revealing Scamander Island and Manor, but he also must face the reality that Tina is about to walk straight into the belly of the beast.

Her darling boy. If there had been any doubts about the solidity of his and Tina’s relationship, they were quelled the moment she saw them look at each other. Her only fear when it comes to Newt and the business of love is that he will retreat too far and shy away too much. Sophia seems to be keeping _that_ in check, however, and as Elsie always taught her sons, worrying means you suffer twice.

Her inner monologue is abruptly interrupted when Sophia steps out from behind the curtain in the dress Bertram designed for her. Elsie can’t help but gasp; feeling very motherly, she says, “Oh darling, it’s wonderful!”

Sophia shuffles her feet, seemingly torn between liking the gown and not wanting to admit it. “Really? It’s not too much?”

“It suits you marvelously,” Elsie says, and it does. It’s different from what the other women will be wearing: it’s bolder, the cut is different, the colors are slightly off. And it’s _perfect._

“Are you sure?”

Tina turns around from where she’s been working diligently with Kirsten. “It looks really good,” she tells Sophia, nodding with a little smile.

Sophia wavers for another minute, then finally surrenders. “Alright. I love it,” she tells Bertram, beaming now.

He clasps his hands together. “Tremendous!”

“But I’m also never doing that again,” she adds. “Not today, at least.”

“Baby steps,” Elsie says, amused by the young woman’s determination to hold onto her defiance even in the face of change. “You look lovely, sweetheart. Now. I assume you would rather _not_ wear that until absolutely necessary?” Sophia nods. “Then run along and change back to your normal clothes, and Bertram can walk you back to the guest house to meet Newt. With any luck, the boys have finished their brotherly talk by now. But in the case that Newt is still sustaining Theseus’s no doubt thorough and articulate discourse, you are welcome to eavesdrop or explore the area.”

“I’m totally gonna eavesdrop,” Sophia says immediately. She changes at lightning speed, thrusts the gown into Bertram’s hands, and is halfway out the door when she stops and turns back. With a strange look on her face, she stands in front of Elsie and then gives her a quick hug. “Thanks,” she says, smiles, and then races off again.

“Did you want me to accompany her?” Bertram asks, looking rather alarmed.

“No,” Elsie says confidently, “I think she’ll be just fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I currently have written up to chapter 51, and I have two more days, so I'm hoping to have up to chapter 55 *crosses fingers*
> 
> It drives me crazy to have these all written and only doing daily updates, but I don't want my queue of chapters to run out!
> 
> Future chapters have become much fluffier (with a decent amount of angst, too) than intended, and much longer as usual. But by chapter 55 we should be at the next action sequence and plot twist.


	44. Intermission, Part VII: Dresses (Sophia & Elsie)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This still counts as one chapter combined with the last one!

Sophia's dress was a mixture of about a million different ideas, so this may be confusing, but hopefully it will help you visualize a little better!

Overall inspiration:

Collar, back, and waist:

Skirt:

Shape:

Cardinal red:

 

(except perhaps a little redder and less pink)

Color combination:

* * *

Being older than Newt etc., Elsie wears very nice but Edwardian-style gowns (as opposed to the 1920s styles seen on other female characters).

Elsie’s dress when she meets Tina:

Elsie’s evening gown:

Other dresses:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will post the next chapter tomorrow morning (it's almost midnight here). I wasn't able to resist the temptation... I'm weak, don't kill me!


	45. When you finally get back upon your feet again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Theseus and Newt have a serious talk about many things.
> 
> “You fall prey to your own mind. Now, more than ever, you need to be strong. Humans have the most inconvenient tendency to assume that they are alone in their fear, grief, and anger. Hiding away inside your funny little brain is only damaging your relationship to the world."
> 
> +classic Newt/Sophia/Theseus slapstick comedy-esque ending
> 
> Chapter title from "Nobody Knows You When You're Down And Out" by Jimmy Cox (1923)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dialogue heavy and not integral to the plot, so you can skip it if you don't like that much dialogue. 
> 
> TL;DR: Theseus is concerned because Newt's been distant, Newt is freaked out about not being able to control Tina's fate with Lucille, Theseus tells him that everyone feels that way and he can't keep getting hung up on it, Newt says he's worried his relationship with Tina will take over his life, Theseus tells him to just spend time apart and make sure they don't rely on each other and they'll be fine.

After the women leave, Newt stands in the middle of the room feeling very stressed and a little sad. He has so much on his mind that he can barely think straight. The beach always helped, however, so he collects himself and heads out. A few minutes later, he’s barefoot, trousers rolled up, braces off, bowtie undone and dangling around his neck, sleeves pushed to his elbows, and shirt unbuttoned at the top. Even the simple act of casting off all the constraints of daily life seems to take a weight off his shoulders, and for a long time he simply sits right on the edge of the water, knees tucked up to his chest, breathing.

He forgot how much he loves this place. There’s nowhere he would rather be right now; the only thing that would make it better would be if Tina could be here. But truth be told, he was relieved when she walked out of the house. Not because he doesn’t want to be with her — he will _always_ want to be with her — but because being around her right now, for whatever reason, is throwing him off.

His thoughts are interrupted by Theseus, who has kicked off his own shoes and socks and changed into a polo shirt. This in and of itself is a rather daring choice (although Theseus’s reputation has somewhat granted him immunity to criticism); until the recent introduction of these short-sleeve shirts, it’s been common knowledge that all men’s shirts have long sleeves. It’s only the first week in April too, and temperatures aren’t particularly high, but leave it to Theseus to dress like it’s summer when it’s only 10°C.

“Hello,” Theseus says, sitting down beside Newt.

“Hello,” Newt replies quietly.

A pause. Then, “We missed you.”

Newt musters a smile. “I missed you too.”

“Tina is a lovely young woman.”

Newt can only nod.

“Come now,” Theseus says, not missing a beat. “Talk to your big brother.”

“I’d rather not,” Newt says thickly.

“You know that isn’t going to work with me.”

“I was hopeful.”

Theseus bumps Newt’s shoulder with his own. “Shall we start with discussing MACUSA, then?”

Newt is silent.

“Newt, you do understand the situation we are in.”

“Yes.”

“And you understand that exposing ourselves to Muggles is far more than breaking a law. It is doing exactly what Gellert Grindelwald wants.”

“Yes.”

Theseus sighs. “Are you going to keep looking like a morose puppy dog?”

“Do I?”

“Yes.” Then, “Where do you go?”

“What?”

“Forgetting to use protective spells is one thing. But the way you act, as though you are completely out of touch with the world, is what worries me more. For the record, Mum and I are none too pleased to be receiving such messages from the President, and you have _not_ gotten away scot-free. But, well...

“Madam Picquery expressed concern about your proclivity for carelessness. For her purposes, she does not want continual slip-ups that threaten the integrity of her country — with which I whole-heartedly agree. For mine, as your older brother… you are being absent-minded, more so than usual.” He hesitates. “I also feel obligated to suggest that if you are not able to address whatever it is that’s causing you to shut everyone out, you may run the risk of losing Tina.”

Newt’s head snaps up at that. _No._ “That isn’t — it isn’t _like_ that,” he says pleadingly.

“Then what is it like?”

How is he supposed to explain this, when he can barely understand himself? “It’s… many things.”

Theseus straightens his legs and leans back, elbows locked and hands buried flat against the sand. “Go ahead, then.”

“It’s — I’m not _used_ to this,” Newt says. “Talking — talking about…”

“Talking about your thoughts and feelings? Newton, I am not asking you to pour your entire heart out and cry and share all of your deepest insecurities. What I _am_ asking is for you to try your utmost to help me understand what has changed. You have always been this way to an extent. But this crosses a line.

“I know you felt badly exposing our wealth and status to Tina.” He sighs. “In the future, perhaps be a little less obvious with your distractions, or consider asking me directly not to make allusions to our ownership of the island. The choking noises were a tad overdramatic and, dare I say, wholly unconvincing.”

“It’s not only that I felt embarrassed by our family,” Newt explains helplessly. “It’s that I — I can’t lose her, and it’s not just the way everybody else thinks. Dinners and balls are all very well, but… Theseus, in a few days, Tina is going to leave this island, and try to confront somebody who wants her dead. It…” He shuts his eyes, unable and unwilling to consider the possibility of a world without Tina. “I would do anything to stop it, to protect her. And I can’t.

“I suppose that’s what — what hurts the most. That’s what I can’t stop thinking about. I am completely, utterly powerless. It’s… when Graves — Grindelwald — took my creatures from me, I was helpless. He could have gone in and killed every single one, and I —” He shakes his head and runs his fingers through his hair.

Theseus brings one hand up to grasp Newt’s shoulder. “That is indeed a big burden to carry. How old are you now?”

“Thirty.” Newt grimaces. When did he get so _old?_ And yet he still feels so young.

In response, Theseus proclaims, “Then I would say an existential crisis has long been overdue.” He looks thoughtfully out over the water. “These are dark times, brother. We may be carrying on as though nothing is the matter, but everybody understands. You think you feel powerless? Newt, there are thousands of people all over the world who are being killed, tortured, taken from their families. There are villages being poisoned, bombed, and wrecked. And yet here we are on this impenetrable island, getting new dresses and having brunch.” There is a certain bitterness in the war hero’s voice.

“Do you wish you were fighting?” Newt asks.

“I wish I could do more, yes. I wish I could do what Tina is doing. But for my own reasons, I cannot.” He looks pained as he confesses, “I was not unmarred by the war. There are some things I will never be able to do again. My victory came at a heavy cost and I… I have seen horrible things.” The way he says this is so reminiscent of Tina. He shakes his head before Newt can try to respond. “But never mind that now.

“I’ll look after Mum for the time being, and now I suppose I have to look after my idiot younger brother too.” He elbows Newt gently. “Newton, the way you feel now is… frankly, it’s normal, and expected. I know that Tina is feeling the same pain, fear, and angst. But what you must understand, if you want to keep your most precious source of love and light in this world, is that what you are doing will never work.

“You fall prey to your own mind. You always did, to a degree. Now, more than ever, you need to be strong. Humans have the most inconvenient tendency to assume that they are alone in their fear, grief, and anger. Hiding away inside your funny little brain is only damaging your relationship to the world. Closing yourself off because you are too frightened to admit to your insecurities will inevitably lead to your downfall.

“None of this means that you must talk daily about your feelings, particularly not with Tina. But it means that you must make peace with _yourself_ and experience life in spite of the chaos that has drawn you in so tightly.

“Right now, you are distant and constantly uncomfortable. It does not escape anyone’s notice that you still act as though you’ve only just met Tina, or that sometimes you fall completely silent and jump when somebody catches your attention.

“Tina is going to think that you have something against her, Newt. From what our dear friend Sophia has told me, you have both come a long way in normalizing this relationship and coming to terms with your own difficulties. Tina has made the effort to accept that somebody cares about her. At least to the outside eye, you have not.”

“I… I don’t quite know what to say.”

Theseus chuckles. “I cannot recall a single conversation we have had in which you have known what to say. It would be foolish of me to expect a response matching mine, and if you _did_ produce one I am relatively certain that we would be sitting here all night. I trust that you have heard and understand me?”

Newt nods. His mind is still racing, particularly as he tries to process his brother’s words, but it’s slowed down considerably since this morning.

Theseus appears satisfied. “Now. Is there anything else the matter? Whether it is a major issue concerning the universe and humanity or a minor issue concerning your hair — which, by the way, could do with a trim. I regret to say that the homeless look has never worked in your favor.”

Newt clears his throat. “I, er… have you — have you ever been in love?” he asks suddenly.

Theseus raises his eyebrows. “A man as sickeningly handsome and extraordinarily charming as myself? Indubitably.” He winks. “I am, of course, kidding — although I would say we both possess fair amounts of Scamander good looks and charm. But I might suggest deferring to your new little sister — lovely girl, by the way, I thoroughly approve — for this type of advice. That said, I will gladly hear you out.”

Newt fiddles with a stray strand of grass lying at his feet. “I worry sometimes that I… that I’ll like Tina _too_ much.” He cringes: it sounds so ridiculous spoken out loud. “I — I don’t mean… I don’t quite know what I mean, except sometimes I worry that she may be too... all-consuming.”

“Well. What is it that you like about her in particular?”

Newt smiles. “She’s intelligent and hardworking, she’s… very strong, in ways I don’t reckon I could ever be. She’s funny, even though she doesn’t try to be, and she’s caring. I… I can’t pinpoint it, exactly, but ever since last year I just… felt something. It was as though I couldn’t look away from her.

“And she makes me feel _comfortable_ in ways I never thought I could. It’s easy, most of the time, I… somehow I’ve spent nearly every hour of every day with her, and I still haven’t gotten sick of it. I could be in a room with her all day doing absolutely nothing and it would be the best use of time I could want for. All of that is — well, it’s a bit frightening, Theseus. I don’t want to cling to her, for both our sakes. I don’t want to _need_ her, but I do.”

“Without exploring the subject of my own relationship endeavors, I understand your fears more than you know,” Theseus says. He presses his lips together thoughtfully. “Needing somebody comes in many forms. Needing to _constantly_ be with them, thinking about them nonstop, clinging to them when they leave the room… _that_ is unhealthy. But _wanting_ to be with them, and needing their presence in your life because it _makes you a better person_ — and it sounds as though that is exactly what Tina does for you — is perfectly acceptable.

“You are part of one another, and with any luck you always will be. That is a gift in and of itself, to find that with somebody. Just do not let that intoxication control the relationship. Have your moments of needing one another. Be romantic — Merlin knows we could use a little romance in times like these. But spend time apart. There is a difference between reliance and symbiosis. You must be able to be your own person _without_ Tina as well.

“Do all the boring domestic duties, fold laundry, read the paper, get in trivial arguments because you know neither of you will leave. If you follow my _very_ sage advice, I believe you will be just fine.” Theseus pauses. “Oh, and don’t forget snogging.”

“Theseus!” Newt says, turning red. Truth be told, he does feel significantly better now. He’s been preoccupied and spiraling out of fear for Tina’s safety and fear that he himself will fall for her so hard that he loses himself. His mother’s words earlier, while directed at the women, did touch him. He’s changed, without a doubt, over the past year — ever since he met Tina and his book gained popularity. It’s difficult not to fear change, not to worry that it will pervade your life and relationships until you lose your own stability. But submitting yourself to the fear of change is only going to lead to a self-fulfilling prophecy.

“Hey bros!” comes a shout from the hill. Both men turn around; sure enough, Sophia has arrived, and promptly starts somersaulting down the hill, landing on her feet where the grass meets the sand, then jumping up and standing in between Newt and Theseus, panting. “How was your talk?”

“Fine,” Newt says.

“Didja talk about Tina?”

Theseus looks at her. “What do you think?”

“I love it,” she says, and plops herself down in Newt’s lap.

“Please get off,” he requests very nicely.

“You’re really skinny, you know that?” Sophia comments, squeezing a hand around his upper arm. “Poor Tina.” She smirks.

“Please get off,” Newt repeats, a little less nicely.

“Elsie said the food’s _really_ good, maybe we can fatten him up a bit,” she says to Theseus.

“Please get off,” Newt says, not very nicely.

“Fine,” she groans, and crab-walks backwards so her legs are stretched out over both men’s laps and she’s reclining on the sand.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it,” Newt tells Theseus.

“It’s quite alright. Madam Picquery advised that I brace myself for meeting Sophia. She expected that you,” he looks at Sophia, “would treat me with ‘the same lack of boundaries and sisterly attitude’ as you treated Newt from the start. I must say you have certainly delivered on that promise.”

“Good ol’ Seraphina,” Sophia says happily. “Oh, I got a dress. It’s actually nice, I’m kind of excited to wear it to dinner. We _are_ having a dinner, aren’t we?”

Theseus nods. “I invited our neighbors and some visitors. There are a good number of young men and women your age, Sophia, so I expect you will have plenty of dinner conversation.”

Newt is displeased with the prospect of young men. “Absolutely no makeup,” he informs Sophia. “And I really wouldn’t mind it if you decided to wear that” — he gestures at her now incredibly disheveled and stained outfit — “or better yet, we could put a bag over your head and —”

Sophia pushes him into Theseus, who was not expecting the attack and falls over, dragging Sophia’s legs with him and causing her to tumble backwards and collide with Newt, who was stumbling to his feet and promptly collapses. Theseus shoves Newt indignantly, Newt tries to whack him back and accidentally gets Sophia, who yells and somehow manages to grab Theseus’s ear, causing him to yowl and nearly crush Newt, who’s been attempting to escape. In short, they end up in a disgruntled pile, spitting out sand, and this is exactly how Elsie and Tina find them. When the trio finally untangle themselves, all very red in the face and still put out with one another, they see the two women.

Newt waves, still trying to catch his breath. “Hello,” he says, flashing his most winsome smile.

Elsie turns to Tina. “Welcome to the family.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave it to me to go into a whole deep thing about identity and change, but I hope it's interesting and relatable. A common struggle (I think) when in a relationship is the fear that you'll lose yourself to the other person, and trying to find that balance where you can still be yourself. It doesn't help for Newt, as you'll see in upcoming chapters, that he's changing in other ways as well. 
> 
> This day took forever to write, but we are almost to the next action sequence I wrote right when this fic was getting started. Hopefully you'll enjoy it, and until then brace yourself for lots of angst and fluff!
> 
> (Also I lowkey wanna delve into Theseus's character as well, because I have a head canon about him having dealt with a lot from the war and I think it would be fun to write about that.)


	46. Ev-ry day would be so sunny, honey, with you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Newt and Tina have a water fight (during which all decency is lost), Newt thinks Tina is unfairly beautiful, and almost says those three little words.
> 
> Elsie smiles. “I must say, that was the most excitement we’ve had on Scamander Island in quite some time. Now, why don’t the two of you get dressed — Tina, dear, I’ll bring you your jacket, I’m sure Newt doesn’t want to be advertising you to the dinner guests” — she gestures to Tina’s shirt, which has gone as transparent as Newt’s, and Tina wants to fall into a hole — “and then Theseus will bring you to the manor.”
> 
> Chapter title from “Honey” by Rudy Vallee (1929)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting this early because I'm weak and this was one of my all time favorite Newtina scenes to write. It's so fluffy I'm gonna die!

All things considered, Tina is quite pleased with her gown. She's never been one for frilly dresses or makeup, although she's significantly less averse to fashion than Sophia — but then again, so is the majority of the population. After trying on her new outfit and allowing the tailors to fuss over a few minute details, she changes back into her practical clothes before walking to the guest house with Elsie.

Any discomfort or anxiety she felt before meeting Newt’s mother has been sufficiently quelled by the time they discover the two boys and Sophia roughhousing on the beach. Elsie is kind, friendly, welcoming, and easy to talk to. She shares the same concerns and frustrations when it comes to Newt as Tina does, and her optimistic attitude about him makes Tina feel marginally better. “He’ll be just fine,” she tells Tina confidently, “and I’m positive that his brother will set him straight if need be.”

Now, Tina thinks she hasn’t seen anything quite as adorable as Newt standing on the beach, cheeks flushed, covered in sand, bangs a mess, and looking even more relaxed than he does in his suitcase. His shirt is wrinkled, the collar unbuttoned and sleeves rolled up to his elbows. A mild wind has picked up, ruffling his hair even more. Tina has to collect herself for a moment. _He’s just… so attractive,_ she thinks somewhat helplessly.

Sophia, of course, catches Tina ogling Newt and winks. “Come on,” she says, motioning for the two women to join them. Tina stops to remove her shoes, socks, and jacket, and rolls up her slacks; although she refuses to look as inappropriately disheveled as Sophia, the energy of the two brothers and Sophia is contagious and she certainly wants to share in the fun.

Still reminding herself to breathe, she meets Newt, who immediately wraps his arms around her. He smells of sand and grass and home and it’s with extreme reluctance that she lets go. “Hey,” she says. “You feel better now?”

He nods, looking over her shoulder. She turns around; Theseus waves at her with a knowing smile. _Thank you,_ she mouths before turning back to Newt.

“You got sand in my mouth,” she complains, trying to wipe it off.

“So sorry,” he says tragically, then leans over and kisses her — on the lips! In front of everyone! “Did that help?”

She hits him. “You made it worse!”

He smiles at her, a real smile. “Terribly sorry, really, I —” He leans in again; she attempts to push him over into the water. He stumbles but catches himself, eyes widening indignantly. “Excuse me, did you just — ?”

She grins. “Have some decency, Mr. Scamander!”

“I’m afraid that’s in short supply, Miss Goldstein,” he replies, and all of a sudden swoops her into his arms from behind and threatens to toss her straight into the water.

“Put me down!” she protests, laughing.

“No,” he says stubbornly into her ear before letting her go.

She grabs his shirt, bringing his face centimeters from hers as she walks them slowly backwards, and then just as he’s about to lean in for a kiss, she kneels down and splashes him right in the face.

“Tina!” he yells in outrage, trying to shake off the water. Her giggles are promptly cut short when he retaliates — as she should have anticipated — and suddenly an intense water fight wages between them as they splash and shout and laugh all at once, both getting very wet in the process.

He’s standing there, ankle-deep in water, looking even _more_ disheveled, his shirt now sandy (and rather see-through thanks to the water), beaming at her, and she _loves_ him. The sun is slowly beginning to set behind him, the last remnants of golden sunshine dappling the water and kissing his face, and it’s all so beautiful Tina can’t breathe for a moment.

Then, having no idea what’s going through her mind, Newt catches her off guard with a hearty splash. She yelps as the water hits her right in the eye — which actually stings a little. “Oh bugger, Tina, I’m sorry,” he says immediately, coming over to her and looking genuinely concerned. “Here,” and he tries to use his shirt sleeve to wipe her eyes off.

“Thanks, Newt,” she whispers, and they’re inches apart again, and his arms move up to circle her waist and her hands are on his shoulders and —

“AHEM,” Sophia coughs forcefully behind them. They both spin around, still holding each other, and face about fifteen strangers, all staring at them. Elsie looks a little dismayed, while next to her Theseus looks thoroughly entertained.

“So,” he booms, walking down to meet them, “this is my brother and famed author Newt Scamander.”

“Hello,” Newt says weakly.

“And this,” Theseus continues, clapping Tina on the back, “is Miss Goldstein, Mr. Scamander’s girlfriend and an Auror with MACUSA.”

“Hello,” Tina says faintly.

There’s a tremendously uncomfortable silence before some wonderful savior in the audience says, “Nice to meet you, Mr. Scamander and Miss Goldstein!” and everyone starts chattering again and disperses.

“Oh no,” she groans, covering her face with her hands. “That was so bad.”

“I rather enjoyed it,” Newt says as Elsie comes over, holding up her skirt.

“There’s plenty of time for _that_ when it isn’t dinner and we haven’t invited half the island,” she tells both of them sternly.

“Yes, Mrs. Scamander,” Tina says meekly.

“Oh, don’t be silly,” Elsie says, face relaxing into a smile. “I must say, that was the most excitement we’ve had on Scamander Island in quite some time. Now, why don’t the two of you get dressed — Tina, dear, I’ll bring you your jacket, I’m sure Newt doesn’t want to be advertising you to the dinner guests” — she gestures to Tina’s shirt, which has gone as transparent as Newt’s, and Tina wants to fall into a hole — “and then Theseus will bring you to the manor.”

“Yes, Mum,” Newt says, his face going rather pink at the “advertising” comment.

Elsie retrieves Tina's coat as promised, and she and Newt walk sheepishly back to the guest house. When they enter, Theseus is boiling a pot of tea, while Sophia has already changed into her new dress. She looks stunning and about 10 years older, even without makeup.

“No,” Newt says firmly, looking her up and down. “Absolutely not. Come along, Tina,” and he leads Tina upstairs by the hand.

* * *

Tina can’t help but smile to herself as she changes in the spare room. Despite the painful ending, what just happened with Newt was… wonderful. Breath-taking, really. She must remember to ask Theseus exactly what he said to Newt, because whatever it was lifted the shroud of discomfort that had been plaguing him for the past few days.

Also, Newt is very attractive. She tries not to focus on that too much.

When she steps back into their room, Newt turns around, hands about to tie his bowtie, and freezes.

“So…” she says self-consciously when he only stares at her. For several seconds. “What, are you trying to let me down easy?”

He blinks before shaking his head and continuing to tie his bowtie. “Not fair,” he says.

“What?”

He finishes buttoning up his shirt and faces her again. “You can’t look that beautiful, it isn’t fair.”

Her heart does something funny. “Newt…”

“No, I’m actually quite serious,” he says. “Could you perhaps wear knickers, like Sophia? Or do some sort of... de-beautifying charm?”

She smiles a little bashfully. “Really?”

“It isn’t fair at all,” he continues, sitting down on the bed to put on his shoes. When he’s done, he stands in front of her, searching her face. Then, ever so tenderly, he reaches up and touches her hair, just as he had when they parted last year.

_I love you._

He somehow manages to tear his eyes away first, grabbing his jacket and Tina’s hand. “We don’t want to make Theseus cross.” He frowns. “I also really must have a talk with Sophia, her outfit is entirely inappropriate…”

Halfway down the hallway Tina stops him. “Wait,” she says, standing akimbo. He waits. “Do you…” She bites her lip nervously. It shouldn’t matter, but it does. “Do you really think I’m pretty?” and she almost cringes at how small and insecure she sounds.

“Have you gone mad?” Newt asks, looking alarmed.

“No, I… I don't know,” she says, avoiding his gaze. “Never mind.”

He pulls her towards him, tilts her chin up, and says softly, “Tina, you’re beautiful.”

Something soars in her chest and, god knows why, she feels tears well up.

“Oh no — I'm so sorry,” he apologizes hastily, because of course he thinks that every time he makes her cry, he’s done something wrong.

“No,” she says. “You’re…”

_I love you._

“Thank you,” she finally manages.

“Are you really alright?” he asks, one hand resting on her shoulder, the other stroking up and down the curve of her cheek.

“Yes,” she says.

“Are you quite _positive?”_

“Yes.”

“Then why are you crying?”

 _Because I love you._ “I’m not.” She sniffles, then forces a smile onto her face. “See?”

He draws her into his arms suddenly, fiercely. “I…” he says, his breath ghosting across her neck.

_Oh god. Oh god is he going to say it is he going to —_

“Don’t want to be late,” he finishes, and lets go abruptly, clearing his throat and determinedly not looking her in the eye.

“Oh,” she says as he sets down the hallway without her.

* * *

Newt’s heart is pounding, his hands are shaking, and he's fairly sure he’s lost his mind. He’d been so close to telling Tina that he loves her. What was he _thinking?_ It’s been a month — they’ve spent every waking moment together, slept in the same bed, he’s thrown himself in front of a killing curse for her, and they’ve shared a near death experience, to be fair — but still, not nearly long enough to profess such a thing, and she has no reason to feel the same.

He can’t tell, sometimes, the way she looks at him. It's impossible to interpret her behavior; he often feels like she may be having second thoughts. Their little romp on the beach was quite possibly the best time he's ever had, and he wants more than anything at this point to go back to that carefree, exhilarating moment. But he thinks back now to how she’d stopped suddenly and stared at him in the strangest way…

“I see things smoothed over with you and Tina,” Theseus says, coming over to him. They've all set out for the manor.

“Yes, but I…” He checks the area; Tina is walking ahead with Sophia, out of earshot. “I almost told her that I — I love her.”

Theseus stops. “Newton!”

“I know, it was awful —”

“Why did you _not?”_

“Not what?”

“Why on earth would you _almost_ tell her?”

“I thought better of it —”

“Do you love her?”

“If I don't love Tina, then I don't know what love is. But it's been so little time.”

Theseus looks at him disbelievingly. “I… I am afraid that from now on, if you do not want me to have another stern discussion with you — supplemented, I am sure, by some choice words from Sophia — then you are on your own regarding your love for Tina.”

“So… so d’you think I could… she could…?”

Theseus clearly wants to say something, but clamps his mouth shut. “On your own,” he says firmly.

Recognizing a losing battle when he sees one, Newt changes the subject. “When you said young men and women, how many men in particular were you — erm — thinking of?”

“Probably more men than women,” Theseus replies. “Five or six that I can think of. Why?”

Newt glowers. “Do you see how inappropriately Sophie is dressed?”

“She looks very nice, Newton.”

“That's precisely the problem.”

“Ah, I forgot that you have a protective streak.”

“It's not _protective,_ it's only that I very much _abhor_ the idea of Sophia flirting with and dating men.”

“That is essentially the _definition_ of protective.”

“But — but men can be so _awful,_ I wouldn't want anyone to… to _do_ anything to her —”

Theseus shakes his head. “Newton, you truly are full of surprises.”

“It isn't a _surprise_ that I should disapprove of my sis — _assistant_ engaging in activities with other men.”

“It really is, actually,” Theseus responds. “And more so is the fact that you nearly called her your sister.”

“Oh, sod off,” Newt mutters, glaring at the boardwalk as Theseus grins.

* * *

Tina turns and looks back, waiting anxiously for Newt and Theseus to catch up. Newt seems to have recovered from his bizarre… whatever that was, and she’s recovered from the disappointment of him _not_ saying that he loves her. She really must thank Theseus; much as Sophia has been a great help, there’s nothing quite like a big brother.

“I'm nervous,” she admits, glancing around anxiously as the men join the women. “How does this… normally work?”

“We’ve only invited the council — that's the Winthrop and Pembroke families — to a private dinner with us,” Theseus explains. “We provide a buffet style meal for our other guests, and once the main course is over we often enjoy dessert together. Afterwards, we may socialize as little or as much as we desire.

“Newton generally hides behind a pillar until it is socially acceptable to leave; however, I have high hopes that with you on his arm and Sophia filling the silences, he may choose to participate more actively. This _is_ our manor, you know,” he reminds Newt. “You and I will own it soon enough, and it won't do to have no relationship with the other families when that day comes.”

Newt struggles to come up with a suitable comeback. Satisfied, Theseus holds out his arm to Sophia, who takes it and comments on the fact that his bicep is roughly the circumference of her head.

“Shall we?” he says somewhat majestically, and in they go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the fluff! I'm up to chapter 57 now. Our poor babies :(
> 
> Also, I couldn't stop smiling whenever I write about Tina's inner monologue about Newt being attractive because that is legit me whenever I like a guy and I swear I live and feel vicariously through my muses. *squeal*
> 
> And can we discuss all of the excuses Newt comes up with to kiss Tina? Because that is flipping adorable.


	47. Life is not a highway strewn with flowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which dinner goes downhill, and Lucille gets a delivery.
> 
> “I… need to leave,” Tina gasps.
> 
> Right. Okay, so this is bad. This is a lot worse than Sophia had expected. “Well, you’re sure as hell not leaving,” she establishes. “Do not listen to whatever the voices in your head are telling you. You are fine. You are loved. Ignotus is a pretentious twat. Nobody wants you gone. Are you maybe a little dangerous? Yeah, but what can you do about it? You have to do this, Tina. You have to. You know you do.”
> 
> Chapter title from "April Showers" by B.G. DeSylva (1921)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry about the angst, but I hope you enjoy Poppy. I've written up to chapter 60 now!!
> 
> I modeled this very loosely after the meals in Downton Abbey... or at least I had those meals in mind as I wrote ;)

Sophia has to admit, she likes wearing this dress. It's new, it's fancy, and it's comfortable, which she never suspected an evening gown might be. As such, she's already in a good mood when they enter the manor. Both she and Tina stifle gasps: the entrance in and of itself is massive, breathtaking, and _beyond_ posh. Islanders and visitors are milling around, chatting and enjoying dinner from a massive buffet which seems to provide an endless supply of food.

Theseus points out a set of imposing double doors. “This way,” he directs them, saying hello to people as they pass.

Once they enter the room, Sophia sees Tina clutch Newt a little tighter. The poor woman: Sophia doesn't care much what others think, and she's quite secure in her relationship with Newt (which, for the record, his girlfriend _should_ be too) but Tina must feel an awful lot of pressure to impress.

The table is set for fourteen. Elsie is at the head, of course. Newt and Tina sit next to one another, and, after he motions to the spot beside him, Sophia joins Theseus. There are two other couples, as well as five people of varying ages who look to be their children. Sophia has been seated beside a young man, whom Newt is eyeing distrustfully.

“You have met Newton before, of course, and here is his girlfriend, Porpentina Goldstein,” Elsie says grandly. “This is Sophia Ollerton, who has been assisting Newt in his magizoology endeavors.”

Introductions are made; the two couples are Poppy and David Winthrop, and Lacy and Ignotus Pembroke. The man sitting next to Sophia is Carter Winthrop, who's her age, and the other two are Daisy and Eleonora Pembroke, aged 8 and 10, respectively. Theseus had explained earlier that although they would usually never have the children eat with the adults, in an effort at equality and normalizing these customs from the start, they have always included children over the age of 7 at their private meals.

Poppy, whose name Sophia recalls from when Elsie had called Newt “Newtie,” seems to be cut from a similar cloth as Elsie, although perhaps a bit softer and less… fiery, for lack of a better word. Indeed, she _is_ thrilled to see Newt, and immediately comments on his book’s success.

“Poppy talks a lot,” Theseus warns Sophia in an undertone as they begin their first course.

“...and I was ever so proud, you know, when I saw you in the _papers,_ darling, I still recall when you were barely four years old, you were the funniest child without even meaning to be — and this is your Miss Goldstein, is it? Pleasure, Miss Goldstein, it's tremendous to have an Auror in these parts, we don't usually — for good reason, of course — but really the things that you do for wizardkind are _so_ appreciated…”

Tina starts to thank her, but Poppy keeps right on talking. Sophia hopes she’s never _this_ annoying when she gets older. Or that she reserves it for meals during which she wants to deliberately torment her guests.

“And you!” Poppy turns on Theseus. “You, young man — you get handsomer by the day! No wedding bells yet, I presume?” Theseus shakes his head vehemently. “Shame, shame… I would so love to see Elsie have some grandchildren before I pass, but then again we have a beautiful Auror in our midst, so all is not lost” — Tina cringes — “and you!” She looks at Sophia, who was just taking a bite and now has to swallow hurriedly, briefly feeling as though she's choking. “You work for Newt?”

“Um, yeah,” Sophia says eloquently, clearing her throat. “I help out with the beasts, doing research and taking care of them and stuff.”

“That’s a _marvelous_ thing to be doing, the both of you,” she enthuses, “I always did think we were a bit unnecessarily unkind to our magical creatures… well, we’ve always had a penchant for dragons, because of how Scamander Island was created, but alas, not everyone is so respectful.”

“You can say that again,” Sophia responds, assuming Poppy will talk over her anyway — and she does.

“Elsie, dear, I was just speaking to Agnes the other day, lovely woman, you know… bit lonely, I think, since her children took off. But at any rate, I told her, _that_ Elsie Scamander has raised her boys right!” She waves her fork around for emphasis. “One a war hero, one a famous author…”

At some point, Sophia assumes, observing this spectacle with delight, Poppy _must_ have to stop talking to take a breath. When the woman evidently decides to put Newt in the limelight, Sophia has to suppress a gleeful grin.

“Now, Newtie, what do you plan to do with Miss Goldstein while you're here? Other than cavorting on the beach — please don't worry about that, by the way, it's always wonderful to see people having fun despite the dark times, particularly people who confront it on a daily basis” — she nods at Tina — “and it certainly made quite the impression on our visitors.”

Sophia glances at Tina, who looks as though she would like to disappear right about now.

Poppy is either unaware of Tina’s discomfort or does not care. “I assume you've been to Wyverthwaite? Not much to see, to be honest, it's a quiet life out here… but I digress.” She looks at Newt expectantly and takes a bite. So she eats, at least.

“Er… probably have a walk around,” he all but mumbles.

“A constitutional always does one good, I’ve found,” Poppy approves. “Particularly with the scenery we have here — the view never gets old, _never.”_

“And you never stop talking, _never,”_ Theseus mutters to Sophia, who nearly chokes for real this time. She’s a great fan of Newt’s brother, and discovering his sense of humor has been immensely satisfying.

“So tell us some more about your book, dear,” Poppy says, still gazing at Newt with the air of someone waiting for a dog to walk on its hind legs.

“There’s — there’s not much to say, I suppose,” he stammers.

This is followed by a long pause during which even Poppy seems to give up on drawing more conversation from him. Everyone chews in silence.

David is the first one to speak again, saying seriously, “Elsie, we do need to address the matter of using Scamander Island as a safe house.”

“None of this council business at the dinner table!” Poppy chides.

“It's an important matter, dear,” he tells her, and Sophia gets the distinct sense that this is a frequent bone of contention. “We have very little time to spare.”

“I think the first question is to ask whether our inhabitants would be amenable, and what we would do about Wyverthwaite. If we end up being a safe house, we can't really host visitors,” Lacy puts in.

“The thing is, these are dangerous times. Our neighbors may be wary of hosting sitting ducks,” Ignotus adds. Sophia bristles a little at his word choice. “There are a lot of risks involved.”

“Have you given any thought to venturing beyond the island?” David inquires of Elsie.

She shakes her head. “Not particularly, no. I have an inkling that it may be imperative for me to remain here. Our island was designed for a Scamander, and I have led it for decades now. Although I trust it entirely in the hands of my sons, I would be loath to abandon my people during this time. They need us, and they need our strength. We _must_ make sure to continue earning their trust.”

“Hear, hear,” David responds in support. “We don't want to imply that anyone should leave the safety of our island… but I fear that if the attacks continue, we may have to at least close off Wyverthwaite to visitors.”

Ignotus frowns. “We still don’t know that the protection spells will hold up against this kind of magic. We haven’t dealt with the likes of Grindelwald before. If they decide to raid us, I don’t know if we’d be able to defend ourselves.”

“I should hope they would leave us out of it,” Poppy puts in anxiously.

“We all should hope, but hope and reality don’t always align,” Ignotus says grimly. “I don’t want to be cynical" — "Too late," Sophia mutters to Theseus — "but this is our island and these are our people, and I don’t know how comfortable I feel hosting Aurors. Grindelwald and his followers have clearly demonstrated that they don’t discriminate when it comes to targets, and even if they’re aiming for one person, they would have no qualms about mass murder.”

It’s Elsie who finally says what Sophia, Newt, Tina, Theseus, and Carter (who look varying levels of uncomfortable) have all been thinking. “Little pitchers have big ears,” she interrupts sharply before Ignotus can continue his increasingly negative rant.

All eyes swivel to the two children sitting at the end of the table. Eleanora has her arm around Daisy, whose eyes are wide as saucers. “It’s okay, Daze,” she whispers. “No one’s gonna hurt us.”

Poppy and Elsie are glaring at the men; David appears sheepish, while Ignotus seems incredibly — even callously — unaffected, particularly considering that his youngest daughter is currently in tears.

Sophia glances around the table. Newt looks stricken and completely unsure what to do, Theseus looks ready to bury his head in his hands and wave a white flag, and Tina looks… oh god, Tina doesn’t look good. She’s gone pale and shaky and — shit. Sophia rapidly pieces it together, replaying Ignotus’s words in her head.

_I don’t know how comfortable I feel hosting Aurors… even if Grindelwald and his followers are aiming for one person, they would have no qualms about mass murder._

That pompous, jaundiced man essentially stated that Tina’s presence on the island could lead to genocide. Even if he didn’t direct it at her, goodness knows she’s had enough on her plate lately, between dealing with her boyfriend’s angst and bracing herself to go after Lucille.

Newt seems completely oblivious to the fact that his girlfriend is on the verge of a mental breakdown. Elsie, however, is not. She and Sophia make eye contact across the table. Then the older woman nods, pointedly looks to Tina and back at Sophia, and jerks her head towards the door.

“So,” Elsie says smoothly as Sophia waits for the right time to take her leave, “how are Mary and Louisa getting on at Hogwarts?”

Everyone (except perhaps a sullen Ignotus) seems to breathe a sigh of relief at the subject change. “Well, Louisa’s been sorted into Ravenclaw of course,” Poppy begins, beaming, “clever girl… and Mary’s studying for O.W.L.’s — she’s a Gryffindor through and through, but she certainly has the brains to match her sister.”

Elsie leans forward to listen, as do Theseus and Lacy (Ignotus is _still_ looking surly), and begin asking follow-up questions. Taking advantage of the momentary distraction — Elsie is seriously the _best —_ Sophia manages to kick Tina under the table. Tina jolts and looks up; Sophia mouths, _Come with me_ and stands. “I have a question for Tina, if you don’t mind,” she says, taking Tina by the hand and leading her out the side door. There are about a thousand people milling around in the hall, but also about a thousand rooms, and it doesn’t take long to find an empty one. There, she closes the door and turns to Tina.

“He didn’t mean you,” she says firmly.

“He did,” Tina whispers. “He knows I’m here on a case. He knows people are trying to kill me.”

“Yes, but he’s just being a total asshole,” Sophia says.

Tina falls against the wall, still shaking. Oh no, this must have _really_ set her off.

“Okay, we can talk about it later, but you gotta breathe, alright?” Sophia says. She grips Tina by the arms. “It’s okay. Panicking isn’t going to help anyone.”

“I… need to leave,” Tina gasps.

Right. Okay, so this is bad. This is a lot worse than she’d expected. “Well, you’re sure as hell not leaving,” she establishes. “Sit down.” They both sit down, leaning against the wall. “If you’re going to have a panic attack and you need to ride it out, fine, go ahead, cry and hyperventilate and let it _go._ But do _not_ listen to whatever the voices in your head are telling you. You are fine. You are loved. You are wanted and welcomed here. Ignotus is a pretentious twat. Nobody wants you gone.

“Are you maybe a little dangerous? Yeah, but what can you do about it? You have to do this, Tina. You have to. You _know_ you do.” She reaches over and grabs Tina’s hand, squeezing it hard. “Go ahead, then. You can cry, I’m pretty sure no one else is gonna come barging in, they’d have like a one in a million chance of choosing the right room.”

Tina looks at her for a split second as she tries to contain the tears, and then starts _sobbing._ Sophia sits there, holding her hand, breathing and murmuring what she hopes are words of encouragement.

“You’re fine. You’re safe here. _They’re_ safe here. They’re talking about scary things, yeah, but in _this_ moment you are _fine.”_

It takes several minutes for Tina to calm down, for the tears to stop, for her to breathe normally again. But she does, and Sophia stays.

“So what d’you wanna do now?” she asks quietly, when Tina seems to have composed herself. “You look pretty bad — beautiful, of course, but your face is all swollen, you know, it happens when you cry — so…”

“Do we have to go back?”

Sophia shakes her head. “Not if it’s gonna be this stressful for you. Maybe I can get Newt to punch Ignotus,” she adds, which brings a smile to Tina’s face. Good.

“He didn’t notice,” Tina says after a pause.

“Yeah. I think Newt’s just been caught up in a lotta things. I talked to Theseus about it, y’know, after you and Newt put on that show, and I guess Newt’s constantly stressing about you going off on your investigation-slash-possible death trap. So I’m sure he felt just as bad as you, because Ignotus _had_ to remind everyone that people are getting killed.”

“I was having such a good time,” Tina says forlornly.

“Oh, don’t give me that.” Sophia rolls her eyes. “You still can! Look, we can join everyone later for dessert, Elsie won’t mind and I’m sure this isn’t the first time someone’s taken off at dinner — especially if all conversation goes like that, Eunice _Frye_ — so we can just find Newt whenever you're ready. Or you can go back to the guest house early and I can cover for you. I talk enough for two people anyway.”

“Thanks, Soph,” Tina says tearfully.

Sophia pauses, trying to figure out the best course of action. “I can get Newt if you want? I’m honestly not gonna force you on this one, I dunno how he’ll even react, but if you think cuddles will help…” She smirks.

“He thinks I’m pretty,” Tina says, as though she can’t believe it.

Sophia gapes. “He’s, like, obsessed with you. Is that really a surprise?”

“He’s not _obsessed_ with me.” Tina pauses. “He’s _very_ handsome.”

“Ew, that’s my brother you’re talking about,” Sophia says, wrinkling up her nose. “Besides, you have a whole _room_ to _yourself_ at the guest house —”

“Stop!” Tina says, turning red. She seems to have calmed down, though, which is a good thing.

Sophia grins. “Now, I don’t know how these fancy dinner things work, but if you want you can stay here and I’ll go poke my head in. If they’re still having dinner, I’ll come back, but if they’ve left for dessert I’ll drag you out there, capisce?”

“Capisce,” Tina says weakly.

“Good.” Sophia gives her a hug. “You’ll be fine, sister. You’ll be _totally_ fine.”

* * *

_Week 4, Friday_

McCaffrey shows up on Friday morning, carrying a small case. “This should work,” he says when he hands it to Lucille.

“Excellent. How much?”

“Two or three, but I can make more. Consider this a test run.”

“Thank you, McCaffrey.” She hands him a pouch of coins.

“Have you discussed this with him?”

“Yes.”

He’s taken aback. “You know his whereabouts, then?”

“Of course.”

“And what did he say?”

“He approves of the experiment. Thank you, McCaffrey,” she repeats with very clear finality, and smoothly pushes him out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! My comments have been diminishing so please don't be a stranger :) I'm going to start replying to old comments as well!


	48. And before my poor darlin' would suffer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tina still feels bad, it turns out that Graham's mother lives on the island, and Newt is super done with Tina.
> 
> “When will you stop doing things alone all the bloody time?”
> 
> “Newt, don’t do this. Please,” she begs him. 
> 
> “When are we going to talk about it then?” he asks, clenching his jaw. “After you’ve gone and gotten yourself —”
> 
> “Gotten myself killed?” she suggests dryly.
> 
> Chapter title from “The Prisoner’s Song” by Vernon Dalhart (1924)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry again for the angst. We're getting there!
> 
> I do apologize if my writing is too dialogue-heavy; I suppose I could try to summarize some conversation, but I've always enjoyed writing and reading dialogue (it's like a movie in my head). However, for any seriously dialogue-heavy chapters I'll put a warning and TL;DR in the beginning note.

_Week 4, Thursday_

They’re just finishing up dinner when Sophia peeks in. Newt and Elsie are the only ones who notice her, and she gives them both a thumbs up. Elsie winks subtly, while Newt turns to his mother in a panic, completely oblivious to the fact that his girlfriend just had a total breakdown. Sophia ducks out again and dashes off to report to Tina. “Give them about five minutes and then we can go find Newt, okay?”

Tina is sitting disconsolately on the floor against the wall. “Okay.”

“Want me to talk to him first? Or d’you feel like, I dunno… communicating?”

“I don’t really know.”

“I don’t mind telling him to calm down before he talks to ya.”

Tina chews on her lip.

“Fine, I’ll do it then.”

A few minutes pass in companionable silence. Sophia pokes her head out and sees the door of the dining room swing open.

“Be right back,” she whispers, and darts over, crouching behind a potted plant. As soon as Newt steps out, she grabs him wordlessly by the elbow and drags him into a nearby room. _Jeepers,_ there really are a lot of rooms in this place.

“What’s wrong with Tina?” he asks urgently, looking stressed out of his mind.

“Okay, first of all, you’re gonna need to stay calm. Okay? Don’t get all clingy and panicked. For all our sakes. Got it?”

“I don’t get clingy and panicked —”

She pats him condescendingly on the arm. “You keep telling yourself that. Anyway, didja actually listen to what Ignotus was saying?”

“Yes, and it only reminded me that Tina could get —”

“Sorry, big bro,” she cuts him off before she has to deal with a whole _new_ big thing, “this ain’t about you right now. Anyway, that guy basically said that if she’s on the island everyone else is gonna get killed and it’s gonna be all because of her.”

He nods, understanding. “That isn’t true —”

“Yeah, but you gotta admit, that’s what it sounded like. I don’t like his attitude, by the way.”

Newt shakes his head. “He never was very pleasant.”

“Not surprised. Alright, so the plan is, you go talk to Tina, hug and say gross romantic things to her and all that, and then you’re gonna join us and have dessert and meet people. Okay?”

“Alright,” he says, though he’s still very concerned.

Sophia decides not to endorse that. “Swell. She’s in the room four doors down on the left. Also, she thinks you’re incredibly attractive, just so you know. That weird stare at you earlier? Yeah, that was just her trying to pull herself together, because she was...” Sophia gives a vague wave, not exactly sure what to say. “The point is that she’s totally goofy about you. So the next time she does that, I might recommend perhaps kissing her rather than panicking and getting awkward, which seems to be your response of choice right now.”

Newt turns bright red. “M-me? Attractive? I —”

“I know, I think you’re ugly too, but to each their own.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Hey, what d’you think of that Carter guy?”

He spins around, one hand on the doorknob, then crosses his arms. “No. Inappropriate. You are not going near that young man.”

She flashes an impish grin. Of course she has absolutely no interest in Carter, but getting Newt riled up has become one of her favorite pastimes. “I think I’ll go talk to him,” she says cheerfully, and skips out the room, leaving a very disgruntled magizoologist behind.

* * *

Newt all but races down the hallway to find Tina, skidding to stop and throwing the door open dramatically. She’s standing in the middle of the room, looking... _not right_ and wringing her hands. He immediately wraps his arms around her. She's still at first, but then he feels her arms come up to grab hold of him and he's relatively sure she's crying on his shirt and he could not care less.

“I'm so sorry,” he says quietly.

She pulls away. “It was silly of me.”

“No, it wasn't.” He presses his forehead to hers, the fingers of his right hand splayed against the underside of her jaw and his thumb resting lightly near the corner of her mouth. “I'm sorry I — I didn't notice.”

She sniffles and wipes her eyes. “No, it's fine.”

“If you do not _stop saying you're fine_ while you're _crying…”_

She laughs. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry!”

He kisses her on the forehead gently and rests his hands on her shoulders. She brings a hand up to grasp his wrist, stroking it softly. They look at each other for a long moment, and he has no idea what's going through her head. _He_ certainly finds himself trying to memorize everything about her, cherish every moment, because brutal reminders of their mortality seem to be relentlessly knocking on their doors. Finally he sighs and lets go, extending an elbow for her to take. “Shall we do our due diligence?”

“How long?” she asks.

“Five minutes,” he promises.

She gives him a skeptical look. “That sounds unrealistic.”

“Six minutes?”

Her dimples flash as she smiles at him, shaking her head. “Okay then.”

They walk into the crowd together; Elsie comes over and gives Tina a big hug. Sophia is talking to that _man,_ which he is _not_ pleased with, but right now his focus is on Tina and socializing. Theseus did have a point: although Newt has rather assumed that his brother will inherit the island, being the only other Scamander (until, of course, he has children, but that’s far into the future, after Tina’s done almost getting herself killed and they’ve saved the world) means that he will no doubt have to pitch in as well. As such, he should probably attempt to break out of the “asocial, awkward, peculiar little boy” mold.

He isn’t sure how he feels about being here, with Tina, after so much has changed. Theseus was right — he _is_ having something of an existential crisis, or at least an identity one. When he met Tina, he was eccentric, socially inept, and the kind of little boy Poppy so fondly recalls. Much of his insecurity and discomfort around people remains, but he’s learned over the past months that he has to keep up appearances if he’s going to function in the world. This means smiling, talking to others, and not hiding behind pillars.

The concerning aspect of this situation is that he worries it will transfer to his relationship with Tina — that his charismatic, trying-to-make-connections self will suddenly butt in. Part of what makes their dynamic so... special has been his fumbling attempts at maintaining a relationship, and he’s almost frightened by any newfound confidence. The fact that he’s now initiating things (albeit inconsistently) when he _never_ would’ve been able to before is causing him significant unrest. Of course, he’s worrying way too much, because when it comes down to it, it’s not as though he’s become a pretentious twat. Still... what if he loses himself here? What if he loses Tina, because of that?

He puts a pin in his internal conflict as someone approaches them. Tina is very clearly praying that they were not part of the audience during their earlier spectacle at the beach.

“Paulina Woodcroft,” the woman says. She’s about Elsie’s age.

Tina goes pale. “Woodcroft? Are you —”

Paulina nods. “And you’re Tina.”

“You — Mrs. Woodcroft, I am _so_ sorry about your son, I...”

Paulina shakes her head gently. “Graham was very fond of you, Miss Goldstein. I suppose I wanted to thank you.”

“Thank _me?_ For what?” Tina asks, startled.

“I do believe you gave Graham a sense of purpose. Despite the negligible age difference, I got the sense that he felt like he could mentor you, watch you become stronger and better, and when we did talk (not nearly enough, of course, but ‘tis the nature of having a son on the force)... well, one time I asked him what he thought of his coworkers. When the attacks started happening, I was merely curious as to whether he felt confident in MACUSA’s ability to address and eventually put an end to it.

“He told me right off the bat that _you_ were the one who’d come through. I don’t want to put pressure on you, dear,” she says quickly, “but I thought you should know that he was rooting for you then and he’s rooting for you still. I know you are on a mission. Even though you may feel alone, as Graham mentioned you seemed to on that first day, every ounce of support helps. And my darling son” — her eyes sparkle with tears — _“damn_ well supported you.”

“I... thank you,” Tina stammers. “I had no idea you lived here, or that he even had a mom.”

“Lacy Pembroke is my third cousin,” she explains.

In the wizarding world, it’s common custom to stay in contact or at least be familiar with your extended _extended_ family; many houses feature tapestries displaying family trees. Those who live here inevitably trace back whether by blood or marriage to one of the three leaders (Theseus Scamander, Edna Winthrop, and Sean Pembroke), all those years ago.

Paulina turns to Newt. “And you, dear, have it too. What you did last year... everybody praises Theseus, but one of these days you are going to help fix the damage that has been done. I’m sure you’re both hearing this left and right, and it must not be terribly reassuring, but truth be told we _are_ on tenterhooks every hour of every day, and though few of us may approach you, we all know who you are.” She directs this last comment at the Auror.

“Oh, I...” Tina says faintly. “I’m not sure if I’m all that.”

“Nobody’s ever sure that they’re all that, no matter how much they succeed,” Paulina says wisely. “Listen to me, listen to the people, and listen to this lovely young man. Now, I’m sure you have more rounds to make, so I won’t keep you.”

“Thank you,” Tina says sincerely.

“Good luck,” Paulina says, with a slightly sad smile, and walks off.

“Well, that wasn’t what I was expecting,” Tina tells Newt.

He shrugs, honestly feeling incredibly proud of her. “I expected nothing less.”

“Thanks,” Tina says, in a tone of _I still do not believe in myself but sure._

They manage to get through three more conversations with various family friends and interested parties. People _are_ staring at Tina, which Newt heartily dislikes but can do very little about. At least they know it’s _good_ staring, he points out to her, but she doesn’t seem very relieved, and who could blame her?

When they’re ready to go, he finds Theseus entertaining several women. “Excuse me, sorry,” Newt says to his brother’s enraptured audience.

“There he is!” one of them exclaims.

“He was just telling us about the summer after your first year,” another says.

“That’s incredibly unnecessary,” he responds, wanting very badly to tell them to stop giggling as well but picking his battles. “We’re taking our leave,” he then informs his brother. “Do me a favor?”

“You want me to watch Sophia?” Theseus sighs.

“Just to make _certain_ she comes home before midnight.”

“Oho, and now you're handing out curfews?”

He glances around; luckily, the color of Sophia's dress makes it easy to locate her between bodies. She’s surrounded by three young men. Three! “Make that half past ten,” he says firmly, then pats Theseus on the arm and takes Tina by the hand. “Shall we?”

* * *

She’s as anxious to get out of the loud, crowded hall as he is, and so they quickly head towards the exit, ducking periodically behind statues and potted plants to avoid being caught up in conversation. Finally, they reach the doors.

“That,” Tina says as they start walking down the boardwalk, “was exhausting.”

“Your mental breakdown probably didn’t help matters,” he quips, smiling fondly at her beside him.

“Shut up,” she mutters, ducking her head.

“Are you truly alright?” he asks.

She pauses, looking pensive. “I will be,” she says finally.

“What’s your plan with Lucille?”

“Pretend to be one of Grindelwald’s fanatics who wants in on whatever she’s planning. If she confesses, I can take her into custody.”

“Do you really reckon it’ll be that easy?”

“Probably not.”

“Please promise me you’ll be smart. No trying to prove yourself.”

She gasps in mock indignation. “Never. I don’t know _what_ you’re talking about.”

“And you have backup?”

She falters.

“Tina!”

“Well,” she says defensively, “there aren’t that _many_ Aurors stationed here right now... the attacks have been more towards central Europe.”

“You have _no one?”_

“I can do it, Newt.”

He thinks for a minute. “I could come.”

“Newt, no.”

“Why not? I could go undercover too, Sophia can look after the creatures...”

“No. I need to do this —”

“Alone?” Newt snaps, frustration bubbling up. “When will you stop doing things _alone_ all the bloody time?”

“Newt, don’t do this. Please,” she begs him. “We still have an entire weekend. Let’s not talk about this now.”

“When are we going to talk about it then?” he asks, clenching his jaw. “After you’ve gone and gotten yourself —”

“Gotten myself killed?” she suggests dryly. “I’m not that reckless, Newt. I can fend for myself.”

He breathes through his nose several times. “Fine. Fine, no, you’re right, I’ll let it go.”

“Really?”

He meant it sarcastically, but now is _not_ the time to argue about this. “Yes,” he promises, and kisses the back of her hand. “Come on, it’s getting chilly.”

She seems slightly mollified, but Newt is not — if anything, he’s _more_ wound up than he was to start with. It isn’t that he doesn’t trust Tina, it’s that he doesn’t trust the world around her. And, unfortunately, there is absolutely nothing he can do about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't yet, I recommend reading my intermission chapter about Scamander manor and island as history and the protection spell are mentioned a few times and it might be good for context.
> 
> Also, I've done a horrible thing and written an entire one-shot in which Theseus and Sophia kiss. I'm thinking of making this a series and posting outtakes and things like that separate from the main fic... I don't know. I never meant for this to happen, I just ship it pretty hard the more I write about them *cries*


	49. Now, put your arms around me like the circle round the sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we learn about fetus Tina and Queenie. 
> 
> “It’s okay. I’m cold too. Let’s go to the library,” Tina suggests. “It’s only down the road a little.”
> 
> “It’s s-snowing,” shivers Queenie.
> 
> “I...” Tina casts around the apartment helplessly. They have nowhere to go. “We’ll have to walk. It’s only three blocks. At least we got shoes.”
> 
> “Yeah,” Queenie says, smiling wistfully. “We got shoes, Teen.”
> 
> Chapter title from “Stealin’ Stealin’” by Memphis Jug Band (1928)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys asked, I delivered.

Tina and Newt have gotten over their little tiff by the time they reach the beach house. It's quiet and empty and there are a number of things they could do, but for old time’s sake they settle on baking biscuits again. Tina forces Newt to wear an apron, as he’s adamantly refusing to change back into his work clothes, and in a _very_ wifely manner she insists that he not get his nice clothes dirty.

When she comes downstairs after putting on her pajamas, he’s wearing an apron with a floral pattern on it, and she’s fairly sure that she’s going to keel over. The combination of crisp dress shirt, bowtie, dress pants, and a well-worn women’s apron... “You look nice,” she chokes out.

“I look ridiculous,” he grumbles.

“A little bit,” she admits, “but still... um, _very_ nice.”

He looks at her strangely. “Are you alright?” he asks for about the twentieth time this evening.

 _No, because you are adorable and I can’t breathe._ “Mmhm,” she says weakly, opening a random cupboard despite the fact that she has no idea what she’s doing.

He leans over and shuts the door. “Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks, legitimately alarmed.

“No, I just, uh...” _Oh god, pull yourself together._ “Nope,” she says, more to herself than to him.

He suddenly goes bashful and awkward, staring down at the ground and running the belt of the apron through his fingers nervously. “Y-you... you don’t have... you’ve been looking at me strangely recently, and I — you aren’t... doubting, are you?”

 _What?!_ “Not at _all,”_ she says emphatically. _In fact, if you wanted to get down on one knee right now, I would be pretty okay with that._ “No, I promise.”

He doesn’t seem to believe her. “I’m just not — not used to being _looked_ at like that.”

“Like what?”

He fidgets, then takes a deep breath and looks up at her. “Like I... matter.”

Her heart breaks just a little. “Oh no,” she murmurs, and can’t resist any longer. Without a word, she wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him, very... comprehensively. He’s the one to break the kiss, and she panics, kicking herself.

“So I do matter,” he says somewhat breathlessly.

“How in the name of Deliverance Dane could you ever doubt?” she asks, genuinely perplexed. _Do you not realize that I love you?_

“It’s rather straightforward, actually,” he says. “I... don’t know how to —”

“Well, we could talk about that, or we could go back to what we were doing before,” Tina says pragmatically.

He smiles, a tentative, shy little smile, and _there’s_ the Newt she knows and loves. She doesn’t mind his confidence, or the banter, or the comfort, but it’s so heartwarming to get glimpses, every so often, of the way he was when she met him. Of the man who acted like a schoolboy incapable of forming words around a girl he really likes. Of the Newt Scamander she started to fall for.

“Yes,” Newt says, “I think I would prefer that.”

* * *

They end up _actually_ baking cookies at one o’clock in the morning, and take them to their room, and eat them in _their_ bed, and talk just as they did before, just as they always do. Tina is much funnier than one would suspect, as well as incredibly intelligent and more perceptive than anybody gives her credit for. Of course, she’s no Sophia Ollerton, but Sophia is something of an enigma. She’s like a sort of bizarre force, a caricature of a person that is slowly becoming human with every tiny show of vulnerability.

“She doesn’t seem to be very close to her parents,” Tina comments. “Even her mom.” They’re leaning against the wall behind the bed, her head nestled into his chest, his arms draped protectively over her shoulders.

Newt nods. “She’s always been quite independent of them. It may sound pretentious, but I rather feel as though she may be closer to us than she ever was to them.”

“No, that makes sense,” Tina agrees. “She definitely spends way more time with us.”

“Mm. That reminds me... do you miss Queenie?”

“Of course.”

“You two are very close.”

Tina smiles. “Yeah. We kinda had to be, growing up.”

* * *

_1908_

_It’s winter. Snow is falling in thick sheets of white, draped over the skeletons of trees. Inside a small, dilapidated apartment, 6-year-old Tina hugs her 4-year-old sister._

_“It’s okay,” she tells Queenie, clenching her jaw so her little sister won’t see her teeth chattering._

_“I wanna go back,” Queenie says. “It was warm there.”_

_“Yes, but they wanted to separate us,” Tina struggles to explain. How_ can _she explain, really, that it’s better to stay in here, with gusts of snow blowing in and no food to eat, than it is to stay at a heated orphanage where people took care of them? “We’ll find somewhere else, okay?”_

_“Where?”_

_“We have to have relatives somewhere.”_

_“We didn’t have aunts or uncles. Not even cousins,” Queenie says sadly._

_“But we may have second cousins, or great aunts,” Tina states, her hands turning to ice around Queenie’s shoulders._

_“H-how will we find ‘em?”_

_“We can go to the records office,” Tina decides._

_“Now?”_

_“Now, I...” She looks down; Queenie’s lips are turning blue. The poor thing. Tina isn’t much better off, but Queenie has always been a beautiful little girl built as dainty and lithe as a fairy. She doesn’t have the hardened exterior that Tina has. Tina is her shield, her guiding light, and her sanctuary. “Let’s get someplace warm,” Tina says._

_“I’m cold,” whispers Queenie._

_“I know,” Tina snaps irritably, and immediately feels terrible. Neither of them has had food in two days. “It’s okay. I’m cold too. Let’s go to the library,” she suggests. “It’s only down the road a little.”_

_“It’s s-snowing,” shivers Queenie._

_“I...” Tina casts around the apartment helplessly. They have nowhere to go. “We’ll have to walk. It’s only three blocks. At least we got shoes.”_

_“Yeah,” Queenie says, smiling wistfully. “We got shoes, Teen.”_

_“Exactly.” Tina takes Queenie’s frigid hand in her own. “Come on.”_

_They trudge through the snow, inches from hypothermia, before finally reaching the public library._

_Tina pauses, kneels down to look her sister in the eye. “If they look at us funny, what do we do?”_

_“We go to the bathroom.”_

_“It’ll be warm in there anyway. There’s heat everywhere,” Tina explains._

_“C-can we look at picture books?”_

_Tina falters. “It depends.”_

_“What does it depend on?”_

_“Who’s working today.”_

_“Oh.”_

_“Come on.” Tina pushes open the doors and they step inside, into blissful warmth and soft golden light. She looks anxiously to the reception desk and heaves a sigh of relief. It’s the nice young woman again, who notices them when they come in, excuses herself to the other librarian, and walks quickly over._

_“Hi, sweetheart," she says to Tina._

_Queenie hides behind her big sister. “Hello, ma’am,” Tina says politely._

_“You still alone?” the woman asks._

_“Yes,” Tina says, trying to be brave and pretend like it doesn’t matter._

_The woman catches sight of Queenie, who looks as though she might pass out. “Oh, dear,” she murmurs. She glances around nervously, as if to make sure they aren’t being watched, and then herds the girls towards the break room. “I can get you some hot cocoa,” she offers, pulling out two chairs so they can take a seat at the table. Queenie sits on Tina’s lap, unwilling to let go of her sister._

_“You want cocoa?” Tina asks Queenie gently. Queenie nods, her eyes wide._

_“Alright,” the woman says, and busies herself at the little stove. “I’m Becky.” She comes and sits beside them. “Is this all the clothes you got?”_

_“Yes ma’am,” Tina replies._

_“What happened to the house you was at?”_

_“They wanted to split us up,” Tina says softly, and runs her fingers through Queenie’s wispy hair. It’s getting long. She digs around in the pocket of her sweater and finds the piece of twine she’s used the past few months to tie her sister’s ponytails. “Want a braid?” she asks. Queenie nods._

_“My, you’re good at braiding,” Becky says, watching her._

_“Got a lotta practice,” Tina replies, shrugging casually, although the simple compliment means more than anything. She ties the twine firmly around the end. “That’s better,” she says._

_Queenie reaches behind her head to feel it, and beams. "Thanks, Teenie."_

_Becky is still looking at their clothes in dismay. They don’t have winter coats; instead, Tina’s dressed in a sailor suit with a sweater. Her long underwear is torn, though not as badly as Queenie’s. She has a battered red beret perched atop a mess of dark brown hair. Queenie's drowning in_ _a worn serge skirt, a cardigan that’s swallowing her up, and a tattered suit of long underwear. They’re both wearing canvas shoes. In the middle of January._

_“Listen, girls,” Becky says, getting up and pouring the hot chocolate. “I can’t keep ya. I’d get in trouble, 'specially since you ran away. I got two little girls of my own to take care of. Can you go back to the orphanage?”_

_“They want to split us up,” Tina says, her eyes flashing. “They can’t. Nobody would take care of Queenie like me.”_

_“Oh, honey.” She hands them steaming mugs of cocoa._

_“Careful, it’s hot,” Tina reminds her little sister. “Blow on it first, like Ma showed us.”_

_Becky hesitates. “I was gonna take my girls’ jackets to be fixed after work, but I... you need ‘em more than they do.” She goes and gets her bag. Queenie gasps when she withdraws two wool coats. “A few of the buttons are missing and there’s some rips, but they’ll keep you warm,” she says._

_“Are you sure?” Tina asks, hating to be a charity case. But Queenie’s cold as ice and still shivering._

_Becky nods slowly. “I’m sure. C’mere, sweetie,” and she gestures to Queenie. Queenie hesitates, not wanting to leave her sister, but Tina tells her to go. She trots over to the librarian, who kneels down and wraps the smaller jacket around her. Of course it’s huge, but it’s better than anything either girl has had in a long time._

_“Tell her thank you,” Tina prompts Queenie._

_“Thank you, Miss Becky,” Queenie says before sitting back in Tina’s lap. “Can I drink it now?” she asks anxiously, pointing to her cocoa. Tina, who’s already drunk half of hers, nods._

_“Make sure you don't spill it, okay?”_

_“I won’t,” Queenie replies, grasping the mug — which is nearly the size of her face — with both hands and sipping with a look of serious concentration._

_“I’m gonna have to let you girls go,” Becky tells them reluctantly. “But I’ll give you somethin’ to eat, alright?”_

_“Mmhm,” Queenie says, the warm beverage already improving her mood._

_Becky slices up some bread and cheese, wrapping it in a paper towel, and hands the bundle over to Tina. “You can go look at books in the library for a little,” she says. “I won't bother you. But please... please go back to the orphanage.”_

_“They can’t take me and Queenie away from each other,” Tina says firmly. “Right, Queenie?”_

_Queenie nods; she has a hot chocolate mustache. With the same nonchalance as a mother handling her child’s messes, Tina leans forward slightly and wipes it with her thumb. Then she pushes Queenie off of her and stands up. Becky passes her the other jacket; she slips her arms into it, and tucks the food inside._

_“Thank you so much, ma’am,” Tina says as politely as she can. Queenie grabs onto her big sister's hand._

_“You be safe, girls,” Becky replies, opening the door. She checks to make sure nobody’s watching, and then motions for the girls to go back out. Then she returns to her desk, settles down, and stamps yet another book._

* * *

“I still have the jacket,” Tina tells Newt softly. “Eventually we ended up in another orphanage. The worst was leaving Queenie when I had to go to school.”

“Who did you leave her with?”

“Well...” Tina smiles a little slyly. “I may have committed a _small_ misdemeanor.”

He straightens up and shifts so he’s facing her. “What did you do?”

“They wouldn’t let me see the records, so I... snuck in and read through them and put them back. It wasn’t even stealing,” she says defensively. “Anyway, it turned out we had an older second cousin nearby. I sent her an owl explaining the situation, or as much as she needed to know, and she said she could look after Queenie until she could go to Ilvermorny. We moved in with her and her husband when I was 10.”

“I didn’t know that,” Newt says.

“Well, now you do.”

“So you had somebody to look after you?”

Tina tilts her head. “Yes and no. We had a house, and food, and clothes. But I still raised Queenie. I mean, she was only 8... _real_ attached to me. They gave us separate beds, thinking we’d appreciate it, but Queenie was devastated, so she slept with me every night. I think when she got older is when she actually got it, understood what happened and that we were orphans.

“The Legilimency became really prominent when she was 5 or 6... when she was younger she could still read other people’s thoughts but she couldn’t put it all together, and until she was talking fluently she couldn’t share anything. It got her into trouble when we were at the orphanage. They thought she had a big mouth, and they were all No-Majs... I beat up several boys for her.” She grins. “See, I can fend for myself.

“Anyway... she grew up a lot by the time she came to Ilvermorny. It was good for her. People liked her.”

Newt nudges her. “I’m certain people liked you as well.”

“No, not really, I annoy people,” Tina replies thoughtfully, not knowing that he’d said the same thing to Jacob a year ago.

“Well,” he says, tilting her chin up to kiss her, “you don’t annoy _me.”_

“That’s all that matters, then,” Tina says teasingly. “The Newt Scamander seal of approval.”

“And my mum. And Theseus. And Sophia.”

Tina smirks. “I’m gonna tell Sophia you lumped her in with your family.”

Newt turns red. “I didn’t mean it like that!”

Tina kisses him on the temple. “Sure you didn’t.” Then she lifts the covers and pats the spot next to her. “Come on.”

Newt slips under the sheet beside her, automatically reaching out so she can rest her head on his chest. It’s a simple act that he worries he may someday take for granted, and he wonders how he ever slept _alone._ This... cuddling, although he hates the term, isn’t just for the sake of physical contact, he realizes as she presses her face into his shirt (he’s fairly certain she’s _smelling_ him). It’s safety and security and warmth and love, to be able to convey things that he sometimes cannot put into words. Clutching her a little tighter, he falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you're enjoying! If you liked the Tina/Queenie flashback I can definitely incorporate more :)
> 
> The Sophia/Theseus fic has been posted [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9453746/chapters/21388643)!


	50. And when my baby's near, I'm happy all the while

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Frida has a plan for Sunday night, swimsuits are worn, and Newt and Tina are a package deal.
> 
> “Come on,” Newt says. “Look, I’ll go, it isn’t that bad.” He plunges under water, then shoots back out, yelping, “That’s bloody freezing!”
> 
> “See, I told you!” 
> 
> “No, no, it’s fine now,” he reassures Tina, crouching down so he’s submersed to his shoulders.
> 
> “Fine,” she snaps, and goes under. It’s frigid, but as soon as she comes to the surface, he pulls her straight into his arms before she can scream bloody murder.
> 
> “See?” he says. “Not so bad.”
> 
> Chapter title from “When My Baby Smiles at Me” by Ted Lewis and Andrew B. Sterling (1920)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff. So much fluff. The next few chapters will be fluff and a bit angsty until Monday, when Tina goes to find Lucille.

_Week 4, Friday_

Lucille can’t even be surprised when Frida shows up in her hotel room. Truth be told, she almost feels relieved.

“Why are you here?” she asks wearily.

“Why do you think?”

“Do not talk about it.”

Frida looks at her impassively. “Fine.” Then, “You have a new plan?”

“Yes.” Lucille hesitates.

“What is it?”

Lucille explains. “It could serve us all well, but..."

“But you need help,” Frida states.

“I do not know how to get close enough,” Lucille admits. “There is a spell."

“I am a trained assassin.”

“Are you implying that you can do what I cannot?”

Frida raises an eyebrow coolly. “Yes, I am. I can help you.”

“How?”

Frida sits down on the bed and takes off her gloves, cracking her knuckles. “I have a plan.”

* * *

After breakfast, Newt, Tina, Theseus, and Sophia decide to spend time on the beach. The weather has warmed considerably since yesterday, putting everyone in high spirits. Newt appears relieved to hear that Sophia did _not_ come home with a young man, nor did she do anything more than talk (allegedly), which is, in Tina and Elsie’s opinion, a tad questionable, but of course they’re quick to reassure Newt that his Sophia is a perfect, innocent angel.

For her part, Tina feels as though a weight has lifted unexpectedly by finally talking to Newt about Queenie. She’s never really discussed this with anybody — once they got to Ilvermorny, Queenie came into her own and they lost touch with anyone from their life before. The flashbacks are painful sometimes; sharing them makes them less so. She supposes Queenie was right about Alec: unless she confronts her pain, she will never stop hurting.

Kirsten and Bertram have offered to create a whole new wardrobe for Sophia and Tina, seeing as they already have their measurements, and neither young woman can disagree. Bertram has made Sophia a number of slacks and knickers, much to her delight, and a number of dresses to which she's admitted tolerating, much to Elsie's delight. Tina still prefers pants over skirts but acknowledged that feeling _slightly_ girlier and more light-hearted isn’t a bad thing. The two tailors have also attempted to coerce Newt into a wardrobe makeover, which he steadfastly refuses. Tina is fairly certain they’re going to do it anyway.

The suggestion of going for a swim is inevitably brought up as they chat on the beach. Sophia and Theseus are quite in favor of it — the two of them have certainly hit it off — but Tina feels extremely uncomfortable about the prospect of wearing a swimsuit in front of Newt. (She has no objections to _him_ wearing a swimsuit, of course.)

In the end, however, Sophia’s nagging wins out and Kirsten and Bertram whip up Jantzen-esque swimsuits for both women. Shockingly, Sophia lodges no complaints, and actually enjoys the freedom that the short, fitted but stretchy item of clothing offers. Newt looks as though he might pitch a fit, and keeps anxiously checking around to make sure no boys pop out of the bushes.

Tina has to admit that the comfort and ease of the swimsuit are a nice reprieve from layers of underwear and long sleeves and pants, although she also feels quite self conscious in so little clothing. Not to mention she’s never worn anything so en vogue; with a stab of homesickness, she imagines how excited Queenie would be about all of this.

“This is so _nice!”_ Sophia yells, running straight into the water in her swimsuit. “I should wear this all the time!”

“You are  _never_ doing that!" Newt calls from the shore. He and Theseus have donned regular worsted wool two-piece swimsuits, and for quite some time Tina carefully does not look directly at him. Theseus, being (as Sophia puts it matter-of-factly) “exquisitely huge,” looks significantly more intimidating not hidden below layers of clothes. All in all, this entire endeavor starts off very uncomfortably.

Eventually, Tina decides that she and Newt have wasted enough time being awkward with one another, and they sit down by the edge of the shore watching the water lap at their toes while Sophia and Theseus splash around and yell.

“Watch out,” Tina murmurs to Newt, “or your brother will replace you.”

Newt scowls.

“Oh, stop it. She loves you,” Tina says, rolling her eyes. _Also I love you._

“It _is_ nice seeing her get on so well with Theseus,” Newt admits. “I feel rather as though I’ve found a terrific babysitter. Perhaps now that those two have bonded, you and I can have a bit of peace and quiet.”

“So now we’re a married couple trying to steal away for a date night?” Tina jokes.

Newt mumbles something that sounds like “someday” and then turns to her, grinning. “Alright, Miss Goldstein, time to get in.” He gets to his feet and holds out his hand.

“It’s cold,” Tina objects, squeezing her knees to her chest.

“Sophia and Theseus seem to be handling it just fine.”

“Yeah, but they’re probably immune to cold.”

“What is it? A wet blanket? Ah. You’re being a wet blanket,” he informs her. Hearing such slang come out of his mouth in such a prim and proper British accent strikes Tina as much funnier than it should be. “What?”

She looks at him and laughs.

“Stop it! What’s so funny?”

 _Nothing. I just love you._ “Nothing, nothing,” she says airily, composing herself. Then, “Fine,” she acquiesces, allowing him to pull her to her feet.

“Come along then,” he says, tugging her by the hand.

The water _is_ cold, but the sort of cold that isn’t so bad once you’re fully underwater. Despite knowing this, Tina is not in favor of being dunked, and instead ends up standing knee high in the water, shivering.

“Come _on,”_ Newt says. “Look, I’ll go, it isn’t that bad.” She waits. He takes a deep breath and plunges under water, then shoots back out, yelping, “That’s _bloody_ freezing!”

“See, I told you!” Tina says, rubbing her arms.

“No, no, it’s fine now,” he reassures her, crouching down so he’s submersed to his shoulders. “Tina, come on.” He gazes up at her, ever so charming, with his hair slicked back and freckles popping out on his cheeks in the sun and his swimsuit clinging to his chest and Tina is _weak_ when it comes to this idiot man.

“Fine,” she snaps, takes a deep breath, and goes under. It’s _frigid,_ and she has the same reaction as him, but as soon as she comes to the surface, he pulls her straight into his arms before she can scream bloody murder.

“See?” he says. “Not so bad.”

“It’s still pretty bad,” she argues, although with him holding her like this it really isn’t.

He jerks his head towards where Sophia and Theseus are throwing a ball back and forth. “Let’s go.”

He sets out, and of _course_ he’s a perfect swimmer. Tina manages to keep up, doggy-paddling more than anything, and when they reach the other two, the water’s only up to their shoulders standing. Except, of course, Sophia, who’s a full foot shorter than everyone and treading water madly.

“Do you need a step stool?” Newt asks her kindly. She splashes him _right_ in the face.

“I’m in water now, so watch what you say,” she warns him. “I can push you underwater. I can. With all these muscles I have.” She points to her biceps which, being a small four-foot-eleven 20-year-old, are not exceptionally large.

“Sorry, where am I supposed to be looking?” Newt asks.

“Like you’re so muscular!” she retorts. “Your brother makes you look like a _toothpick,_ I don’t know how you manage to carry creatures and Tina around all the time —”

“I do _not_ carry Tina around all the time,” Newt says, which really wasn't the salient point.

“If you say so,” Sophia says in a sing song voice.

Newt looks at Theseus. “How do I make it stop?”

Theseus shakes his head hopelessly, then tosses the ball in the air. “Play,” he says, and they spend the day quite productively splashing around and hitting each other in the face.

* * *

“I think I’d like to travel,” Newt says cautiously as he and Tina sit in the guest house, drying off. He had a slight bit of difficulty swimming with her today, given how _pretty_ she is, and given the fact that she was significantly less clothed and usual, but overall it was time well spent.

“Where?” she asks.

“I was thinking, erm… Territory of New Guinea?”

She raises an eyebrow. “That's a little far away, isn't it?”

“Er… just a smidge. It isn't _really_ that far, if you think about it.”

Tina is unconvinced. He doesn't blame her. “How do you plan to get there?”

“Well, that's the thing… I don't think a Portkey would work, particularly as I've heard that there's a shortage… but Muggle transportation can take so long, two weeks to get there.”

“So, what's your solution?”

“There’s a wizarding ocean liner, gets you there in half the time.”

“Are you sure it's trustworthy?”

“No one has died yet,” he offers.

“Reassuring,” she replies drily. “How long would you be gone?”

“It would be somewhat indefinite,” he admits. Tina looks upset, and he can think of several possible explanations.

“Would Sophia go with you?”

“If her parents can be convinced. I must say, this journey alone was difficult enough for George to stomach. But I could certainly use the help.”

Tina looks even more upset. Why?

“If you need time to consider,” he starts, but she shakes her head.

“It's fine.”

“You mean… you would be okay with it?”

She crosses her arms.

“Tina, you don't look fine.”

“Well it's just that I _thought_ you might have a plan, you know, _intending_ to come back and see me at some point, rather than go on an ‘indefinite’ trip halfway around the world, but that's fine, fine,” she snaps.

“What?”

“It really doesn't matter, Newt.”

“N-no — no, stop. What?”

“I don't want to talk about it.”

“We don't have to go if you don't want to —”

“No, you and Sophia should go, have a nice time and make _discoveries_ and I'll just be back at MACUSA —”

“Wait — you aren't coming with me?” This changes everything. “Why not?”

“What?”

“I — you do know I was _assuming_ you would come with me. Madam Picquery permitting, of course. But I’ve been on my Best Behavior, and she seems quite fond of Theseus, so I expect that she would be amenable.”

Tina looks surprised. How on earth did she…? “Oh. I thought…”

“You thought I wanted to travel without you?” Newt is aghast. “I thought I made it _quite_ clear, several weeks ago, in fact, that I would like you to go wherever I do, and vice versa. I do not want to be anywhere that you are not.” He looks up at her. “You know that, right?”

“No, I… well I do now.”

He still can't wrap his mind around the concept of them not being — how had Sophia put it? — a package deal. “Did you — how could you think that I — we wouldn't —”

“I don't know, underestimating myself, I guess? I just thought, you know… you were gonna drop me in New York and go off to New Guinea.”

“I would sooner hand over my suitcase to Grindelwald than leave you,” he says seriously.

“Really?”

He hates that, how whenever he compliments her she asks as though she still doesn't quite believe him. One of these days, he swears, he will make her stop doing that — he will make her start to believe him. “Have we not done everything together since I arrived in New York? What on earth would possess me to leave now?”

“Getting sick of me?”

“I could — that you would — how — Tina,” he shakes his head, “I have no idea where all of this is coming from, but you _must_ stop, because I…” _I love you._ “It's clear to me, at this point, that, er, we are… well, you are… part of my life,” he struggles to explain. “So whenever I speak of future plans, _please_ assume that I include you in them. I always will.”

“Always is a long time,” she says quietly.

“It is.”

“Alec said always,” she whispers.

 _Oh, bugger._ “But I mean it. I do, Tina, and I will spend _always_ proving that to you.”

“I'm sorry,” she says, and he can _tell_ she's holding back tears. “I don't know why… I don't want to be that overbearing, or needy, I just… I didn't want you walking off on another ship again. After everything, I don't think I could handle that.”

“I couldn't bear it either,” he says firmly, then reaches out and takes her hand. “So, Porpentina Esther Goldstein… would you like to travel to Territory of New Guinea with me?”

She smiles and nods the exact same way she did at the harbor last year. “Yes,” she says, “yes, I would like that very much.”

Except this time, he can actually kiss her — so he does, _most_ enthusiastically.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder that you can check the other work in this series for the Sopheus fic I've posted! I'd like to eventually write some spin-offs (with OCs, but also canon characters) to add to the series :) 
> 
> For the record, Sophia and Theseus's relationship was intended to be totally platonic and sibling-y, because I didn't want to just indiscriminately pair every male and female characters. However, they're really good together, which I hadn't anticipated. Anyway, all of the stuff between them in the next 10 chapters I wrote before I wrote the other fic, so I wasn't trying to pitch them as a ship, it just happened. For the purposes of this fic let's assume they're just good buds, shall we? 
> 
> Enjoy!


	51. Never saw the sun shinin' so bright, never saw things goin' so right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Newt and Tina sleep overnight on the moonlit beach, Lucille continues her nervous breakdown, and Poppy gets to enjoy the experience of a Scamander family breakfast (which includes Newt, Tina, Sophia, Theseus, and Elsie).
> 
> “I will punch you!” Sophia threatens Newt.
> 
> “I’m sorry, could you show us your muscles again?” he says calmly, patting his mouth with his napkin. 
> 
> “I have — I’m perfectly strong, Newton Artemis Fido Scamander —”
> 
> Theseus raises an eyebrow. “Good lord, has she really used his full name? Mum, I think Sophia has out-mothered you.”
> 
> In other words: Pure, unabashed, disgustingly romantic fluff. With some Lucille angst thrown in. And then a major laugh at the end.
> 
> Chapter title from "April Showers" by B.G. DeSylva (1921)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The breakfast scene was one of my other favorites to write — up there with the All Dolled Up outtake, the first time Sophia chews Newt out, the time she pokes him in the ribs, the time she and Newt and Theseus all end up in a pile... hmm, I think all the Sophia scenes are my favorites (although I also thoroughly enjoy Poppy).
> 
> Anyway, ENJOY THE FLUFF. At this point I'm really just writing fluffy filler chapters, don't mind me...

Newt, Tina, Theseus, Sophia, and Elsie have dinner in the cavernous banquet hall, but it's only the five of them. (Newt is fairly certain everyone has learned their lesson when it comes to large council affairs.) Thus, their meal is actually quite enjoyable, and dessert is delicious. Afterwards, they return to the guest house and play several games of Exploding Snap before Theseus and Elsie head back to the manor. Sophia has been invited by some “friends” to the village, of which Newt is incredibly skeptical particularly given that his brother and mum aren't going to be chaperoning. In the end, his desire to take advantage of every moment with Tina that he can trumps his desire to ensure Sophia doesn’t get into any trouble.

Once the others leave, Newt and Tina pour glasses of wine and split an Eton mess, cuddling lazily on the couch and chatting. Sophia comes home around midnight to Newt, every part the stern father, and Tina, who's half asleep on Newt’s shoulder.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” he asks rather menacingly.

She beams. “Yes, it was _lovely._ I met a young man and we made love all night —”

He jumps up, knocking Tina off of him. _“Inappropriate!”_ he exclaims, appalled. “If you must joke, at least do so with discretion…”

“Eh, maybe,” Sophia says casually, then goes to the kitchen and pulls out a platter of leftover cake.

“Don't take too much, that’s Tina’s favorite,” Newt says, watching her shrewdly. “Besides, you need to _sleep,_ and sugar…”

Sophia rolls her eyes. “Yes, _Dad._ You know, you're more of a father than my actual father.”

“I did assure him that you are well cared for.”

“That was kinda rude,” Tina comments from a slouched over position, referring to the fact that he’d abruptly displaced her in response to Sophia’s joke.

“Oh, so sorry, here —”

She straightens up and yawns. “It's fine, we should go to bed.”

He's never opposed to _that._ Sophia is eating the cake happily; he warns her one more time not to finish it, and then follows Tina upstairs.

* * *

“This is ridiculous,” Tina whispers three hours later as they tiptoe out the back door. Neither of them had been able to sleep, so Newt proposed that they go look at the beach.

“Yes,” he agrees, taking her by the hand. “Come on.”

He helps her down the hill, both barefoot and clad in pajamas, Tina grasping a blanket around her shoulders. It’s probably too cold to be out here in such thin layers, so Newt deftly conjures a small fire in the middle of the beach.

“Are you warm enough?” he asks Tina.

She looks at him with something heavy and meaningful in her gaze. “Yes,” she replies quietly.

“Good.” Why is she so tentative? Then again, why is _he_ so tentative? Theseus would certainly tell him to buck up.

It's terrible, having this big _thing_ hanging between them. At this point, what is there to say? Tina’s going to find Lucille while he stays at home having a grand old time with his beasts. And the fact of the matter is that even _if_ she's able to catch Lucille, this war is far from over. Chances of Lucille going easily are slim as it is. What if this is a fool’s errand, and the only thing to come of it is losing Tina? _Enough of that,_ he scolds himself, _you resolved to live in the moment._ With immense difficulty, he pushes his fears to the back of his mind and refocuses.

“Did you have a good day?” he asks Tina.

“Yeah,” she whispers, “yeah, I did.”

“Good,” he says again, stupidly. She's so _pretty,_ even though she doesn't seem to quite believe it. Queenie's always been the conventional bombshell with whom Tina feels she can never measure up, but she has an understated kind of beauty. When she smiles, or laughs at something he’s said…

“So,” she says, and he didn't notice when or how she got so close to him, “are you gonna kiss me or not?”

He does, and marvels at the fact that billions of people are walking around every day having never kissed Tina Goldstein, which is such a _shame_ for them, really. Kissing and being kissed by Tina is something he never thought he would be able to do. It’s intoxicating and beautiful and exquisite and he thinks back to when they first met, and how very naive he was... if only he knew that someday he would be holding her in his arms on a bloody moonlit _beach_ and experiencing _this._ It’s the same thing that frightened him so much, that first time — the overwhelming sensation of being wanted and needed and (perhaps eventually, he hopes) _loved_ by somebody else. Of _mattering._

He still struggles to come to terms with it, to find the right balance within himself when it comes to Tina. To not push her away, but not let her subsume him. He does try — and they spend a perfectly fair amount of time _not_ doing anything but chatting and being in the same room and bickering when they start irritating each other — but in moments like these, where she’s all over him, everywhere, he thinks he can probably make an exception.

* * *

Frida Apparates inside Lucille’s room as Lucille is getting ready for bed. “It will work,” Frida says, striding over to where Lucille is brushing her hair. Sometimes she misses being blond, but darkness is strength, and she needs all the darkness she can get.

“How are you so certain?”

“I know what I am doing, Lucille.” The assassin hesitates, then sits beside her on the bed. “Have you given this further thought?”

Lucille puts the brush down, frustrated. “What _further_ thought could I give it?”

“You think short term. I do not understand your long term plan, your goal.”

“Revenge,” Lucille says simply.

“I know that, but what _really?_ What will heal you?”

“Heal me?” Lucille says sharply. _“Heal_ me? I do not need healing, Frida.”

“J —”

Lucille swings around and seizes Frida’s chin. _“Do NOT say his name!”_ she hisses, furious.

That damn assassin looks back at her with the same coolness as always. Unfazed. “I am on your side, Lucille,” she says firmly. “You are volatile. I am not. I want to assist you. I want to help him. But if I have learned anything from watching others’ mistakes, it is that nothing is successful without a goal in sight.”

Lucille falls back, chest heaving. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, and only remembers the lipstick after it’s rubbed off on her skin. It looks exactly like blood.

“If this plan works. What do you expect of him?”

“He will use it. Everything will change.”

“And what will change for _you?”_

Lucille is unraveling. The stress of this, the pain and anguish and anger, are driving her mad. “Why do you kill?” she asks Frida suddenly.

“Because it is my job. Because I enjoy it.”

“Why do you enjoy it?”

“I really could not say.”

“I never wanted to kill, you know,” she confides in Frida. “Except Tina, of course. But now... now I am _itching_ to kill.”

“To cast an Unforgivable Curse is to succumb to darkness,” Frida says. “You think you are full of darkness, but I see light still. You will not kill until the light has been snuffed out.”

“I want to kill,” Lucille whispers. “That is my goal.”

“I see. And so should this plan work, you will join him in executing it worldwide. Will you still kill Tina?”

“Yes.” Lucille’s fingers tremble with the desire to pick up her wand and point it at the next person who wrongs her.

“And then what? Start a war? I thought you had your own motives.”

“I do. I did. I...”

“You were helpless. You would have killed.”

Both women know Frida isn’t referring to now. “How did you learn?” Lucille asks again, desperately. “Please.”

“I cannot tell you,” Frida replies, and for the first time Lucille sees a hint of remorse. “Only that I am here to help you do what you must do. If you truly believe that doing this” — she gestures to the box on Lucille’s dresser — “is what you must do, then I will help you.”

Lucille is silent, struggling to breathe. It feels as though her insides are crawling, desperate to escape, desperate for relief.

“Sunday night,” Frida says, standing up. She rests her hand on Lucille’s head for a moment. “We will find out on Monday. The both of us.”

Lucille nods. “Then let’s hope at least one of us succeeds.”

Frida nods curtly, then spins around and Disapparates. Left in the coldness of her room once more, Lucille desperately seizes her wand and opens the window. Outside, three floors down, a stray cat is rooting in the garbage. Lucille takes aim. _“Avada Kedavra!”_

The cat falls onto its side, dead. With one more shuddering breath, Lucille closes the window and turns off the light.

* * *

“What's your greatest fear?” Tina asks lazily.

She's sitting between Newt’s legs now, leaning against his chest, his arms wound around her waist. “Losing myself,” he says quietly.

She cranes her neck to look at him. “What do you mean?”

He explains, as best he can, his so-called existential crisis. “I am fearful of changing. I was never in touch with reality, I — I was always in-in my own world. I... so much is happening, Tina, I can’t think straight. I am… _changing._ The world as we _know_ it is changing. My greatest fear is that one day it will go back to normal, but I will not.”

“Oh Newt,” Tina murmurs. She turns around fully, then clasps her arms around his neck, holding him there. “There’s no such thing as normal,” she says quietly as he clutches at her. “Remember what your mom said? You can’t lose yourself if you don’t _let_ change affect you that way.”

“I...” His mouth works, trying to produce words, but he finds himself rendered speechless. It would seem he’s reached his capacity for articulation. “I... if I lose myself, I will lose everybody else,” he finally confesses, and her hand moves up to cradle his head in a protective, fortifying gesture.

“You won’t lose anybody,” Tina says, still holding onto him, which is good, because he might just fall over if she lets go now. “You won’t lose your mom, or Theseus, or Sophia, or me, or anyone else you care about.”

“No, that’s — that’s about it, when it comes to people I care about,” he says shakily, somehow mustering a smile.

“Well, you’ll still have us.”

“Thank you,” he says softly, and means it.

“Can I let go now?” she asks after another minute has passed and he has no intention of relinquishing his grip on her.

“Never,” he says, but drops his arms enough so she can move back. Then, because he _needs_ to, he kisses her. Just once. When he pulls away, her eyes are — oh, bloody _hell,_ has he made her cry again?

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” she says, drawing him back into her arms. “I’m just really glad you talked to me, that’s all.”

“Oh,” he says, not exactly understanding but never one to turn down a Tina hug.

With a sigh, she kisses him on the cheek, then lays the blanket across the sand and flops down on her stomach, resting her head sideways to look at him.

He lies next to her, slinging his arm across her back. “So,” he says. “What’s your biggest fear, then?”

“‘M too tired,” she sighs, closing her eyes.

“Another time,” he replies, smiling to himself. Then, after a long period of silence in which he’s fairly certain she’s nodded off, he realizes that they’re still on the beach. “Tina,” he whispers. “We should go back. I don't think I can carry you back up.”

“You calling me fat?” she mumbles.

“You're beautiful,” he says without thinking (which, come to think of it, doesn’t really answer the question), then firmly stops himself — Sophia and Theseus would be _so_ proud — from panicking and trying to backtrack. _I mean, who doesn't like being called beautiful?_ Sophia had pointed out the other day. “But we really should go.”

“You go on. I’ll jus’ stay here,” she slurs.

“Tina,” he groans. She always _does_ this, doesn’t she.

“Do a tent thingy,” she says, waving vaguely towards his wand.

“What?”

“Tent. Y’know. Big canvas thing.”

“Are you suggesting that we sleep out here all night?”

“Mm.”

“Tina, we can’t.”

“‘S warm,” she points out, and indeed the fire is heating the area quite effectively. “...tide?”

“We won’t drown, but — sorry, I just don’t really —”

“Then you gwan.”

“You are _very_ irritating, you know that?”

“Mmhm.”

He can’t believe he’s about to do this. Merlin’s beard. With a sigh, he reaches for his wand, and, just as she so eloquently suggested, builds a little tent around them and the enchanted fire. When he’s done, he turns to her. “Happy?”

She reaches out and sleepily interlaces their fingers. “Happy.”

* * *

_Week 4, Saturday_

The next morning, Poppy comes by the guest house for breakfast, bearing with her an obscenely large batch of cookies and enough conversation to fill three encyclopedias. Sophia immediately goes for the sweets; Newt attempts to do so as well, but Tina gives him a lecture about keeping his strength up, so he ends up eating a “proper” breakfast before digging into the cookies. He makes certain that Sophia _doesn’t_ take them all.

“You know you _are_ thirty, don’t you?” Tina asks in amusement.

“30-year-olds can like biscuits,” he informs her through a mouthful of toast. He’s adorable all the time, but especially in the morning, such as when she wakes up to discover that he _had_ in fact built a tent so they could sleep on the beach (she’d been relatively sure that was a dream). His hair is all messy — he really _does_ need a haircut, but she’s so fond of his floppy bangs, it’s bad — and he looks all wrinkly and sleepy and she is genuinely concerned that one of these days her heart simply won’t be able to handle it.

“So,” Sophia says brightly, piling three more cookies on her plate. Elsie, who has seemed torn between being a hostess and being a mother ever since Poppy walked in and deposited a mountain of sugar on the breakfast table, finally reaches over and slides the plate away.

“Good choice,” Newt says, reaching for the biscuits himself.

“Oh my _god,”_ Tina groans, looking helplessly at his mother, who shakes her head in defeat. “You seriously don’t want to see her on that much sugar.”

Theseus, who has been peacefully eating his five eggs, frowns. “Can she really be much worse than usual?”

“Yes,” Newt and Tina reply simultaneously.

“Alright, settle down now,” Elsie cuts in before her brood begin arguing. “Thank you, Poppy, for the plethora of sugar,” she says rather passive aggressively to her neighbor. “Might I remind us _all_ that every one of you is above the age of 20, and accordingly I’d quite like to have a lovely, civil meal with our guests — although I must say, I’m rather beginning to lose track of who’s a guest and who’s not.”

“I’m a guest,” Sophia volunteers. “But at the same time I’m _also_ kind of your daughter, so _that’s_ a thing.”

“At any rate,” Elsie talks over her, “shall we enjoy our breakfast?”

Everyone nods, but then Newt says, “Wait, Mum, I thought Sophia was only 15? Or perhaps it’s her height...”

“Can someone take the knife out of her hand, please?” Tina asks before the 20-year-old can respond. Elsie swiftly reaches over and removes the potential weapon, then starts to open her mouth and is cut off by Sophia.

“I will _punch_ you!” she threatens Newt, actually banging her fist on the table for emphasis.

“Oh, goodness,” Poppy says, looking alarmed.

“I’m sorry, could you show us your muscles again?” he says calmly, patting his mouth with his napkin. Tina could kill him.

“I have — I’m _perfectly_ strong, Newton Artemis Fido Scamander —”

Theseus raises an eyebrow. “Good lord, has she really used his full name? Mum, I think Sophia has out-mothered you.”

Elsie looks faint.

“Look, cookies!” Tina shouts in an attempt at distraction. “Everyone have a... have a cookie...”

Sophia, glaring at Newt, shoves one in her mouth.

Theseus pats Tina on the arm. “Nicely done. Baked goods are always a splendid way to defuse the tension.”

Newt tries to smile at Tina, but she is absolutely having none of it. “We’re at your mother’s, for Wilmot’s sake,” she hisses.

“Precisely! So I can do whatever I please,” he replies glibly.

“So sorry about Newtie’s conduct, Mrs. Scamander,” Sophia says loudly.

“Who’s Wilmot?” Poor Poppy appears both distressed and bamboozled. Who can blame her?

Newt waves his fork dismissively. “American terms,” he says. “Ours are better.”

Tina gapes. “Did you really just —” She looks at the other members of this disastrous breakfast. “Did he just _insult_ American —”

“Wilmot Redd? Deliverance Dane?” Newt shakes his head. “Ridicu —”

Tina kicks him in the shin under the table. Apparently she kicks him rather hard, because he jumps about an inch in his chair and cries out in pain.

“Tina!” Elsie says sharply. “I thought _you_ were being quite mature!”

“Yeah, well your son is being quite rude,” Tina counters, then remembers that she’s speaking to her boyfriend’s mom and potential mother-in-law. “Sorry, ma’am,” she says meekly, bowing her head.

“This is balled up!” Sophia declares.

“I would like to perhaps suggest that Newton and Sophia absent themselves from the table,” Theseus says.

This effectively quells both argumentative parties.

Theseus turns to Tina. “I would also like to suggest an apology, as when there is trouble in your paradise, I am afraid it creates somewhat of a ripple effect and before we know it this entire island will be shrouded in angst and misery.”

“Sorry, darling,” Tina says only half-sarcastically to Newt. He looks unimpressed. She leans over and kisses him sweetly on the cheek.

“Fine,” he sighs.

“We will not even begin to address the squabble that occurred between the two of you” — Theseus points at his brother and Sophia — “and instead choose wisely to pretend those particular events never transpired. Now,” he says, turning to Poppy graciously, “we sincerely apologize for the show that we just put on.”

“Oh, never you worry, dear,” she says, and beams at him, having apparently recovered quickly. “You know, I was thinking this whole time, what on earth are all these adults doing, arguing like this... but then it occurred to me, you know, you’re really just _wonderful_ family, the love you have” — “I wouldn’t go right to _love,”_ Sophia mutters — “and the _warmth”_ — “What about threatening to punch someone is _warm?”_ Sophia grumbles — “at any rate,” and she looks at Sophia, who apparently thought her comments were going unheard. The 20-year-old straightens up and smiles angelically. “At any rate, I am _thrilled_ to see that Elsie has such a wonderful family, because I’m afraid those aren’t as common nowadays as one might think.

“I had been intending to share some stories of Newtie from his childhood” — Sophia’s face lights up; Newt looks horrified — “but alas, it would seem I’m running a little behind schedule and will have to take a rain check.” Sophia’s face falls; Newt sighs in relief.

“Poppy, what story were you intending to tell?” Elsie asks. “I wouldn’t want to embarrass Newton _too_ much —”

“Tiny the Colossal Squid, of course,” Poppy says, smiling over at Newt, who slides down in his chair.

“Oh, Tiny! Yes, that’s a tremendous tale — oh, Tina, you’ll _love_ it,” Elsie says, fully approving.

“That’s not fair, now I’m gonna go my _entire life_ until I hear the story just _knowing_ nobody has _told_ me about this squid,” Sophia complains.

“I think you’ll survive,” Tina tells her dryly.

“Maybe,” she says glumly.

“Well,” Poppy says briskly. “I’d better be going, then.”

“Poppy, you didn’t give Sophie any tea, did you?” Newt thinks to ask anxiously as they all get up, Sophia doing so with such energy she nearly spins round like a top and keels over.

“No, dear, I gave her coffee. Why?”

Newt and Tina groan, commiserating (although later, they bicker over who should’ve been making sure Sophia didn’t go near caffeine). “Bad idea,” they say simultaneously, and walk out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got one comment but I'm just curious if there are any new readers! I get comments usually from the same handful of people but if you're a new reader (or an old one who just doesn't comment) don't be shy :)
> 
> By the way, second semester has been going well! I had to drop one class because the professor was a bigoted prat (I have MANY things I could say about him) but I've registered in a precalc class which I really enjoy, so all's well that ends well. I'm thrilled with all my classes now — it's going to be a ton of work, but I'm hoping to spend weekends catching up on chapters!


	52. It's my sweetie, can't you guess? Wild about her, I'll confess!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we learn about Tiny the Colossal Squid, Lucille is having a major flashback situation, and there is a ball. This is part one of that ball (the squid story took up a lot of word countage so I split the ball scenes into two chapters).
> 
> “Wait, what was the emergency?” Tina asks.
> 
> “I needed to dance with you,” Newt explains.
> 
> “Why? What happened?”
> 
> “Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that I wanted to dance with you.”
> 
> “So nothing’s actually wrong?”
> 
> “Not anymore,” he replies, and whisks her away.
> 
> Chapter title from “Everybody Loves My Baby” by Spencer Williams (1924)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for those of you who've commented! Glad to know I have an audience ;)

_Week 4, Sunday_

Poppy comes by the next morning, this time sans cookies and carefully avoiding the coffee pot. Sophia is thrilled to see her, given that she’s been promised a story about Newt. Newt is much less thrilled to see her, and in fact seriously considers pretending that he’s experienced a mysterious and life-threatening allergic reaction to Poppy’s stories, and thus cannot be within a mile radius of her.

“No bickering today, I hope?” she says as she takes a seat and the house-elves bring her a plate of food.

“No,” Newt sighs, having been sufficiently told off by his girlfriend, brother, _and_ mother. “Although I _sincerely_ feel that this particular treatment is unjust.”

“I. Am so. Excited,” Sophia says, beaming. “Okay, but Newt _never_ talks about his childhood, he’s so secretive that part of me always thought he was some weird child prodigy murderer —”

“Weird child prodigy murderer,” Theseus repeats, amused. “I had no idea there was such a thing. Although I will say that ‘weird’ and ‘child’ are accurate, and ‘prodigy’ could be argued. As for murderer... yes, _definitely_ murderer.”

“Sorry — so sorry, I just wanted to interrupt and say that you really _don’t_ need to tell this story,” Newt interjects as Sophia laughs, “in fact, I would be much obliged if you _wouldn’t —”_

“Oh, dry up, Newtie,” Sophia snaps, dragging him down to sit beside her. He looks desperately at Tina, who wants to hear the story just as much as Sophia, and gives up.

“Now, this was when he was only six or seven, mind you,” Poppy begins. “Darling little boy, curly ginger hair and big blue eyes — the Scamander men have always been handsome, of course,” she nods cordially at Theseus, “but he always was a tad odd... anyhow, one day he came to Elsie very seriously and asked if he could keep a giant squid as a pet.

“She, being such a _wonderful_ mother, said that if he could find one, he could keep it. We all thought that was a grand way to handle such a silly request… but then a fortnight later he drags her outside and there's a positively _colossal_ squid frolicking around near the shore! I must say, it wasn't as hideous as I would've believed, although those eyes are always a bit dodgy. Elsie screamed, which is totally understandable given that her son’s just taken her out in the middle of the night to observe a 45 foot squid.

“I woke up when she screamed, I thought there was an attack of some sort, so I woke David and we rushed out there and _I_ screamed — David won't admit it but he _definitely_ screamed himself — and pretty soon the other neighbors started popping up and we were all staring at this monster of a thing, with tiny Newtie just standing there proudly.

“He told Elsie, ‘You said I could keep it,’ and she couldn't explain that she hadn't _really_ expected him to find one… poor thing, the both of them. Anyhow, he couldn't really keep it, there wouldn't be enough room, and, well… it was a colossal squid.

“We all asked how he found the squid and he said he’d just wished for one and it appeared. I always thought he was lying to stay out of trouble, but our Newt has never been a good liar, and I don’t suppose he’s willing to talk about it now.” One glance at Newt is enough to confirm this supposition. “So Elsie asks, ‘And what did you name him?’ And he looks at her, _so_ serious and very peeved that she would question it at all, and says, _‘Her_ name is Tiny.’

“Finally we had to tell him, you know, he couldn't really keep her as a pet, our waters aren't big enough… poor little _dear_ was devastated. He started shouting at Elsie, told her she _said_ he could, and he said that he _loved_ Tiny and wanted her to be his _friend_ and we all told him that she was probably better off out at sea, you know, with her kind. He got ever so glum at that, and he told us, ‘But they bully her.’ And we asked _who_ did and he said, ‘The other squids… and the merpeople.’

“Now, we didn't think there were really merpeople, you know, thought it was all a bit of a _myth,_ so we weren't sure how to respond. Elsie asked how he knew and he said, ‘Isn't it obvious?’

“‘No, dear,’ Elsie said gently, ‘only to you.’ And Newtie looked _so_ devastated, and he waded into the water and touched this positively massive thing… its eyes were a foot in diameter, but it was really _looking_ at him, like it understood. So he just stood there and seemed to talk to it or communicate somehow and then eventually he turns around and tells us that Tiny’s agreed to be _very_ good if she can stay with us.

“So we asked, Newt darling, what would keeping her _entail?_ And he said he wanted to play with her, and feed her, and build a home for her over by the guest house. Now, we knew it wasn't going to _hurt_ anybody, but you can see why we wouldn't want a 45 foot colossal squid hanging around all the time. It gets a bit crowded, and doesn't make our island look terribly welcoming, you know… this 45 foot squid as our mascot… he tried to say that Tiny would make the waters _safer_ to swim in, but it just wasn't a good idea. And I must say that the other children weren't quite as fond of it as Newt was.

“We felt terrible, truly, but we told him that he would have to say goodbye to Tiny. I've never seen him so upset! But he always _was_ such a good boy, he understood that she needed to stay where she belonged, so he gave her a hug — imagine this dinky little thing trying to hug a colossal squid! — and said something to her, and I could’ve sworn I saw her _smile._ She brought up one of her tentacles and squeezed it round him — all our wands came out, of course, it looked like he was going to get throttled — but he got _so_ angry with us for that, said she would never hurt him in a million years, and then she swam off.

“We talk about Tiny the squid from time to time, those of us long time inhabitants. I'm sure she's still alive and kicking… maybe she’ll hear that Newt’s in the area. Newtie was just always happiest by himself or with creatures. That’s changed a great deal” — she nods at Tina encouragingly — “I'm glad to see he’s found a young woman who measures up to his beasts… at any rate, there's the story of Newt and Tiny the Colossal Squid!” She takes a deep breath, given that she apparently didn't breathe throughout the entire story, and nibbles on her toast.

“That is an _amazing_ story,” Sophia says when she can even collect herself to speak. “Aw, Newtie loved a squid!” She ruffles up his hair. He sits there with the tolerance of a battered old cat whose owners just brought home a toddler.

“He really was the sweetest boy,” Poppy sighs. “Wouldn’t you say, Els?”

Elsie nods. “I daresay I’m a little biased, but yes, both of my boys were very sweet. I did quite a good job, if I do say so myself.”

“I dunno, Mrs. Scamander,” Sophia says. “Your younger son is pretty —” Newt covers her mouth firmly with his hand.

“Now,” Poppy says, “I must run and prepare for the ball, Carter hasn’t been to one of these since he was just a boy and I’m rather concerned that he’ll have forgotten how to _talk_ to people — although I did see him talking to you, Sophia, so perhaps that’s promising...”

“I talk to everyone,” Sophia says apologetically, “so I don’t think you can really use me as a gauge."

Poppy frowns. “Ah, well. He’s my only boy, you know...”

Sophia cuts in with the question that's only just occurred to everybody. “Wait, there’s a ball?”

Poppy's face lights up in excitement. “Oh yes, it was arranged weeks ago amongst the council, we weren’t quite certain that you’d be here but when we saw you on the beach” — “Don’t remind me,” Tina groans — “we _knew_ it was going to happen! Elsie, you didn’t remember?” She glances a bit reproachfully at the other mother.

“Merlin’s beard, I completely forgot,” Elsie replies, then looks distraught. “I haven’t prepared anything —”

“Pish posh,” Poppy says, flapping a hand dismissively. “Don’t you worry about a _thing,_ darling, the house-elves and staff will take marvelous care of us all, as they always do.”

“I don’t have a ball gown,” Sophia brings to everyone’s attention. “Wait. Is that a thing? Is that what they’re called? You guys are so fancy, I never know... how _fancy_ exactly is a ball? Like, on a scale of 1 to 10. Because I still have that dinner dress, only I spilled a little wine on it by accident, but the nice thing about _red_ is that other red things don’t really show. Like wine, or blood.” Theseus motions for her to stop talking. She rolls her eyes and smacks him; he smacks her back, but a warning look from his mother is enough to end their impending fisticuffs. He gets the last word, however, and makes some comment about her acting "appropriately." 

“We’ll get you straight to Bertram and Kirsten,” Elsie pledges, already standing up and trying to herd the girls out of the house. “Goodbye, Poppy, we’ll see you tonight!”

“A ball?” Tina asks, dismayed. “I don’t know how to dance!”

“Just lurk over by the walls and talk to boys, that’s what I plan to do,” Sophia advises with an impudent grin. Newt is not amused.

“You’ll be fine, dear,” Elsie says soothingly. “Now, boys, if you’d like to come I’m sure they would be _more_ than happy to fix you up in something new... Newt, the house-elves mentioned that your dress shirt had some sort of batter all over it, but I told them of _course_ you couldn’t have been _baking_ in it.” She narrows her eyes slightly at him.

“Hmm? Ah, that — that’s.”

“I made him wear an apron,” Tina puts in.

“Newton never _did_ care about messes,” Elsie sighs woefully. “Come along, then, you’d better get something new too.”

“They _washed_ the shirt!” Newt says in alarm. “I can just wear it again —”

“No excuses.” Elsie looks at her eldest. “Theseus, if you’d like to stay with Poppy, I do recall her asking if you could pop by and help her with something. Unless you’d like to come with us, but —”

“Coming with,” Theseus says quickly. “I know how fond you are of her, Mum, but if she does not stop chattering away my head may explode one of these days.”

“I doubt it, sweetheart, you’ve got a very thick skull,” Elsie says consolingly. “Well! It’s off to the village, then,” and all five of them set down the boardwalk — like one big happy family.

* * *

Lucille checks the time, willing it to go faster. It doesn’t.

She has to admit, she _is_ getting a bit antsy waiting for tomorrow. Not only does she plan to put on a performance, confront the person she hates most, and dangle herself in front of the Ministry’s nose only to disappear, but she also can’t _wait_ for the shock value. When Tina sees her...

She feels marginally calmer than she did last night. The itch to kill has subsided somewhat, although her feelings towards murder in general have certainly shifted. Perhaps she’s gone off her nuts, officially. The flashbacks have been worse lately too; to be honest, at this point she’s staking her sanity on tomorrow going well.

There is, of course, the possibility that _none_ of this works. That no matter how successful she is tomorrow, she will be just as tormented as she is now. She _wants_ to be a killer, but only if that means she can be cool, premeditated, and stable. This mania is becoming frighteningly similar to the state Phillip was in. Either way, Tina must go.

Lucille hates the feel of losing control.

_Don’t, please don’t — don’t do that. No, I can’t make it stop, I don’t have magic —_

She digs her nails into the palms of her hand, willing herself not to think about it. Not to think about any of it. _Keep your eye on the prize..._

Frida is her backup, though. She really is grateful for the assassin, who knows how to work the system, how to move through the night completely undetected. Frida is like some sort of animal slinking around, never suspected and never getting caught. Unlike Lucille, she doesn’t like being the center of attention.

_Close your eyes, Lucy._

_Please._

_A body hits the ground... she chokes down a scream, clapping her hands over her ears, until she feels a warm hand on her back, soothing, comforting._

_It’s over, Lu. It’s over._

“Enough,” she whispers to herself, but she doesn’t listen.

* * *

Sophia and Tina take a crash course in dancing from a pair of local dance teachers. The 20-year-old possesses the same frustrating quality as Newt that somehow makes her good at everything; accordingly, she picks it up in no time at all, quite literally dancing circles around a flustered Tina. In the end, however, Tina figures it out, and armed with a luxurious new ball gown that makes Newt nearly trip over his feet, she takes on her first Scamander Island Ball.

Once there, she tries to avoid dancing for as long as humanly possible, milling around and talking to Graham’s mother again (who is, unsurprisingly, incredibly nice), Elsie (which is difficult, given that Mrs. Scamander is essentially the queen of this entire little kingdom, making conversation with her a hot commodity), and Newt (who is more than happy to keep her company, but also keeps casting longing looks at the dance floor). Poppy is a last resort.

Sophia and Theseus have both gone their separate ways and Newt had to chase after an old acquaintance; as Tina hovers uncomfortably by the edge of the room, holding a glass of champagne, she watches Theseus sweep by with some young woman in his arms. Sophia, on the other hand, is chatting with several young men, all of whom appear vastly more interested in her than she is in them. Tina supposes that any guests are exciting, and Sophia being around their age, friendly, and attractive makes her instantly popular. Personally, Tina rather liked Sophia with Nelson, as did Queenie (and, viewing him as the lesser of all other evils, Newt), but especially if they end up going to Territory of New Guinea together, that’s going to have to be put on reserve.

“Tina,” Newt says urgently, coming over to her. He takes the glass out of her hand, drops it on a platter, and begins to pull her onto the dance floor.

“Newt...”

“No, it’s an emergency,” he insists.

She sighs and follows him. Trying to recall her earlier lesson, she stumbles through the first few steps of the fox trot but, much to her relief, quickly picks it up. Once she’s finally gotten the hang of it, it hits her that Newt is _really_ good at this. Of course. He’s smiling at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling, as he leads her around the floor.

“That’s, erm... a nice dress,” he says.

“Yeah, when you tripped over yourself I figured that was a good sign,” Tina says, grinning. “You can compliment Kirsten later.”

He considers this. “No, I would rather compliment you.”

Tina is actually starting to enjoy dancing quite a bit. “This isn’t that bad,” she admits. Then, “Wait, what was the emergency?”

“I needed to dance with you,” Newt explains.

“Why? What happened?”

“Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that I _wanted_ to dance with you.”

“So nothing’s actually wrong?”

He leans in and kisses her quickly but very boldly considering the setting. Then again, they’re surrounded by other couples, so it’s likely gone unnoticed. “Not anymore,” he replies, and whisks her away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, if you're skimming past all the Lucille stuff to get to the Newtina stuff, that's understandable, but I would advise you to still be mindful of them. Your author really does enjoy dropping hints, and has done so since the beginning, plus it'll probably be important for the sake of context.
> 
> ALSO I posted the second-to-last chapter of my [Sopheus fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9453746/chapters/21388643), so it's essentially finished until after TWMLLO wraps up (because the final chapter gives away spoilers). Go check it out if you ship Sophia and Theseus. If you don't ship them now, you probably inevitably will. Just saying.
> 
> By the way, I kind of want to do some drabbles and oneshots (which I could post as part of this series) so please leave requests/prompts in the comments!


	53. Caring each day more than the day before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Newt and Sophia have a magizoologist-assistant dance (NOT a brother-sister dance, mind you), Tina and Elsie have yet another conversation about Newt, and Newt is a vulnerable pile of feelings. Part two of the ball.
> 
> He draws her closer to him as they sway gently to the music, and Tina’s heart is pounding because she can hear the words he isn’t saying.
> 
> Don’t go.
> 
> “I’ll be careful,” she says softly.
> 
> He nods, pulling her impossibly closer. “I don’t want to lose any of this.”
> 
> Her eyes fill with tears.
> 
> “Do you want to stop?”
> 
> “No,” she says fiercely, and holds him as close as she can. “Never.”
> 
> Chapter title from "Always" by Irving Berlin (1925)

With only an hour left of the ball and everybody considerably sweatier and more relaxed than when they walked through the doors, Newt and Tina agree to take a break from the dance floor. However, he still fully intends to get in a waltz with her before the ball ends.

Newt feels slightly smug as he realizes that everyone at the ball must have seen him dancing with Tina. He's spent each Scamander Ball until this one moderately miserable and unable to see the appeal of such events, usually watching happy couples enjoy themselves around him and his dance partner, and counting down the minutes until it's over. Now, _he's_ one of those happy couples, and he couldn't be more pleased. 

"You and your Miss Goldstein look lovely tonight,” one of his mum’s friends (he still can’t recall any names) tells him as she passes by. “When will the wedding be?”

For a moment he thinks she’s teasing him, but then realizes she’s completely serious. “We aren’t — erm — w-we aren’t engaged,” he says awkwardly.

“Oh, dear,” the woman apologizes. “I’m sorry, I just assumed, the way you two are together.”

He has absolutely no idea how to respond to that, or what that even really means, and is grateful when she sees a friend and walks off. Between Francis Cinderford referring to Tina as his wife and this woman assuming they’re engaged... well, it doesn’t make it particularly easy when it comes to accepting the fact that it’s only been a month and there is no reason to expect Tina to _love_ him, let alone accept a ring from him.

Having left his girlfriend speaking happily with a group of women — he experiences a rush of pride whenever she comes out of her shell and shows the world the Tina he already knows and loves — Newt scans the hall and suddenly notices a disconsolate, alone Sophia slouched down and pouting at the floor. Well, that won't do. He hurries over, pulling up a chair next to her.

“What’s wrong?”

She looks up at him bleakly. “Nothing. I just… don’t fit in here. And all these guys want to dance, but it’s too much, it’s too rich, they’re all prim and proper and wealthy and I hate it.”

He considers this for a minute, then stands up and holds out his hand. “Come on, then.”

“What?”

He jerks his head towards the dance floor. “Consider it a… magizoologist-assistant dance,” he says.

“That sounds terrible,” she says, following him. “I think you really mean brother-sister.”

“We aren’t _related,”_ he reminds her.

“Yeah, but we might as well be,” she points out. (He still doesn't know exactly what she and everyone else mean by this argument.) She takes his hand. “D’you actually know how to do this?”

“Yes,” he says indignantly. “Have you not seen me dancing with Tina all evening?”

"Yeah, well, I haven’t exactly made it a priority to watch you and your girlfriend make eyes at each other. I do enough of that against my will at home.”

That's... fair. Newt expertly pulls her in between two couples to a vacant spot and adds, “Although you’re considerably shorter than Tina.”

“I can stomp on your feet,” she informs him as they both find the beat. “I can, and I can say it’s an accident. Just so you know.”

Tina was right; Sophia is certainly a quick study, particularly at the faster-paced, higher-energy steps (but that’s no surprise). “Fine,” Newt replies. “If you wish to be so immature.”

Just to make a point, she tries to slam her foot down on his toes, but quick as a whip he pulls back, causing her to stumble. “Not fair!” she pouts.

“I daresay that’s what you get, having a magizoologist as a brother,” Newt says. “I have excellent reflexes.” He spins her around; she yelps, almost falling, but he catches her.

“Yeah,” she says. “I guess I can live with that.”

* * *

Tina and Elsie return from the ladies’ room to Newt and Sophia dancing at the middle of the room. Newt is smiling, legitimately _smiling,_ down at her and she looks much happier than she did when they left.

“That is… the sweetest thing I’ve seen. In my entire life,” Tina says. If this man doesn’t stop taking her breath away, she’s going to end up unconscious on the floor before the night is over.

“I must say, I was skeptical when Theseus first described the intensity of their relationship, but now I fully understand,” Elsie says, beaming at the duo. “Newt always _was_ missing something growing up. His esteemed big brother ran off doing bigger and better things, and he got quite lonely, even after graduating. He spent ample time here, of course, but he really could’ve done with a sister like Sophia a long time ago.”

“You know, I used to be jealous of her,” Tina admits as the two women take a seat.

Elsie looks aghast. “How could you _ever —”_

“I know, I got over it,” Tina says, sighing. “It’s so ridiculous. I just thought he would find some other woman who understood him like that, and he would drop me.”

“Newt would no sooner drop you than chop off his arm,” Elsie says confidently.

“It _is_ hard, sometimes. The doubts…”

“Will always be there.” Elsie smiles kindly. “You will be married and 80 and still worry that he will find someone better than you. But the only thing you can do is trust, or else you _will_ get swept away in insecurities.” She hesitates. “It’s probably not my place to speak on behalf of my son’s heart, but he cares a great deal for you.”

“Thanks,” Tina says. Elsie pats her on the hand. “Hey, do you, uh…” She’s considered asking this question several times, and always hesitated. Now or never. “Do you know anything about Leta Lestrange?”

Elsie’s face clouds over. “Not all of it. Enough to piece together that what happened was… more upsetting than Newton will ever admit.”

“Oh.”

“If you really want to know, Theseus has the full story. I might suggest asking Newt himself, but as he is given to stuttering through serious conversations so much as to be unintelligible at times, Theseus may be your best bet.”

“Okay.” She hates to go behind anybody’s back, least of all Newt, but she can’t help wondering, and it feels somehow sneaky to ask Queenie when the Legilimens didn't acquire the story by offer. 

"He has always been my dear boy,” Elsie says quietly, still watching Newt spin Sophia around on the dance floor. “Theseus could do just fine on his own. He was loud, brave, strong, and incredibly good to me. The ideal son, some would say. But Newt was the little one in the corner you almost forgot about until he spoke up.

“When I felt the weight of the world was on my shoulders, he would come to me late at night, crawl into my bed, and fall asleep. It was as though he knew, intuitively, that I needed him.

"He was born feeling the need to help those he cares about — which, up until very recently, was really only his mum, brother, and beasts. From what I understand, Leta took advantage of that. For a relatively brief period of time, he cared for her very deeply. And being my darling little Newt, the same boy who rescued a 45-foot squid from undersea bullies, he took the fall for her.”

“He was ready to take a Killing Curse for me,” Tina murmurs, feeling badly now.

“Yes, but the difference is that you deserved it,” Elsie says gently. “You care about him as much as he cares about you.”

“I really do,” Tina says. _I love him._ “Does he... has he...” She bites her lip, feeling mortified to be asking his mother, but she doesn’t have a Legilimens to drop hints anymore.

Elsie knows exactly what’s on her mind. “Has he talked about you?” she asks, the corners of her eyes crinkling warmly.

Tina's cheeks flush in embarrassment. “Well, yes." 

“Of course he has.”

“Really? I wasn’t under the impression you guys talked that much.”

“Although you two are very nearly attached at the hip, there have been plenty of opportunities to speak with him alone,” Elsie points out in amusement. “I assure you, he likes you _very_ much. And the same doubts you have, he experiences in a different way.”

“He’s changed a lot,” Tina says thoughtfully.

Elsie nods. “He has.”

“He said it scares him, he doesn’t want to lose himself.”

“Theseus came into his own practically as soon as he was born. Newton apparently needed a bit more time. 30 years, to be exact.”

“I think it _is_ hard for me,” Tina confesses. “When we met he was still... awkward. I mean, I appreciate him being confident, it’s just sometimes... I guess when he was the way he was before, it was easier to feel like he liked me.” She ducks her head. “I don’t know, it sounds so stupid.”

“Tina, I was a young woman once too,” Elsie says sternly. “There is nothing so frustrating as watching somebody change and worrying that their feelings for you will change along with them.

"Even if Newt’s external behavior is changing, what he feels in his heart is no less. He will always be the same eccentric, reserved magizoologist hopelessly in love with you. He’s just learning to function a little better in the real world.”

“Oh,” Tina says. Then, “Hopelessly in love with — ?”

“Hello,” Newt says. He kisses Elsie on the cheek and sits down next to Tina.

“That was cute, that brother-sister dance,” Tina says impishly.

“It was _not_ a brother-sister dance,” he protests.

Sophia comes over. “It _so_ was. Hey, Teen. Hi, Mom.”

Newt gapes, then looks between her and Elsie. “No,” he says. “Now that is too far.”

“Oh, Newton, lighten up,” Elsie clucks.

“Yeah, Newtie,” Sophia smirks. “Remember, Poppy said we’re a family!”

“Poppy doesn’t know what she’s talking about half the time.”

“Newton! Be nice!” Elsie admonishes him.

“You’re just mad ‘cause she told all of us about Tiny,” Sophia points out.

“I’m not.”

“You are, you didn't want us to know you were such a weird child! I mean, we all had our suspicions, but —"

The band starts playing a mellow, slow tune. Newt gets up in a flash of swallow-tail jacket and holds out his hand to Tina. “Please,” he says quietly.

“Oooh,” Sophia whispers.

“Soph!” Tina says sharply, then takes Newt’s hand and follows him onto the dance floor.

“I trust you know how to waltz?” he says.

“Yeah, think I can figure it out,” she replies wryly. “I might not be Scamander-rich, but I wasn’t born under a rock.”

He draws her closer to him as they sway gently to the music. The lights have been dimmed, marking the end of the ball, and Tina’s heart is pounding because she can hear the words he isn’t saying.

_Don’t go._

_Please be careful._

“I’ll be careful,” she says softly.

He nods, pulling her impossibly closer until his chin is resting on her shoulder.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

He nods again.

“Is it something else?”

He presses his forehead to hers, still leading, and just _looks_ at her. “People are dying,” he says in a hushed voice. “Everywhere.”

“Oh, darling, I know,” she murmurs, moving her hand up to cradle the back of his head. 

Tina feels odd every time she lets a term of endearment slip past her lips: it's so unlike her. And yet just as Newt has changed through their relationship, so has she. This was certainly never in her plans, dancing around a manor with the man she loves. Oh well, she figures — stranger things have happened.

The aforesaid man she loves is still gazing into her eyes bleakly. "We can’t do anything about it now.”

 _“You_ can,” Newt mutters. “You’re the Auror.”

“Yes, and I have to,” she reminds him firmly, “but let’s just enjoy this, please?”

“I don’t want anyone to die,” he says so forlornly she physically aches.

“We just have to keep going.”

“I don’t want to lose any of this.”

Where this came from, Tina doesn’t know, but her poor magizoologist looks positively wracked with... what? Fear? Guilt? Sadness? She thinks back to what Elsie was describing earlier, how Newt could intuitively tell when something was wrong, how he'd always possessed a surprisingly big heart.

Tina discovers new things about Newt every day. She realizes now that he and Queenie are more alike than they seem. Although he may come off reclusive, and appears to only care about very few people and his creatures, he’s sensitive to the world around him. He doesn’t like _anybody_ suffering — like Elsie said, he’s the same little boy who went and tried to give a sea monster a home, just because he thought it (she) was sad.

Queenie gets upset reading suffering people’s minds; Newt gets as upset reading suffering people’s feelings. Not individual people, no — he doesn’t pay much attention to those other than his loved ones. But this energy, whatever it is, the fear and the darkness… _they_ affect him, in ways that Tina can never fully understand. Either way, it must be overwhelming.

“Sorry,” he says so faintly she feels it across the nape of her neck more than hears it.

“Don’t apologize,” she says plaintively. God, this man. This poor, incredible man. “It'll be okay. We’ll fix it,” she promises.

“I don’t…” He’s still leading somehow; they're still waltzing slowly, tenderly across the floor.

 _I love you._ Tina wants to say it, wants to be _able_ to say it whenever he feels this way, because she _loves_ him, but instead her eyes fill with tears.

“Oh, bugger,” he says when she tries to sniffle quietly, “did I make you cry again?”

“No, it's fine.” _It's just because I love you._

“Do you want to stop?”

“No,” she says fiercely, and holds him as close as she can. “Never.”

* * *

When the music fades, Tina stays hugging Newt for a long time, until the lights brighten and the band packs up and everyone starts moving and they have to leave the magic of the dance floor to face reality.

After end-of-ball obligatory "thank you so much for coming I hope you had a good time and yes I have grown up and yes it is wonderful that my book was a success and yes this is Tina the Auror from last year" conversations with miscellaneous villagers, they walk down the boardwalk hand-in-hand, Sophia skipping ahead of them despite Newt’s warnings that she’s going to hurt someone. Right on cue, she nearly crashes into a young woman heading the opposite direction.

“Shit, sorry!” she yelps, grabbing the victim’s arm and steadying her. When the woman looks up, Newt recognizes her, but from where?

Then it hits him. “Were you at the book signing, at The Arcadian Quill?” he asks before she collects herself and walks away.

Her eyes widen, every part the starstruck Newtie. “Yes, you — you signed my book,” she breathes.

“Ah.” He nods. “Well. Good to see you again, I suppose.”

She blinks a few times, then gives a little shake of her head and continues on her way.

“There are fewer of those around here than I thought,” he comments.

“Newt Scamander, are you disappointed that you’re not being accosted by hordes of young women?” Tina asks teasingly.

“No,” he replies, which is mostly true. “I will admit,” he says after a pause, “that I was not particularly _opposed_ to your being jealous of that woman at the bakery. Despite the fact that it was... initially unnerving, I would very much not mind a repeat.”

“Who, Dorothy Clifford?” Tina still resents her. “If there’s another Dorothy Clifford on this island I’m not going to be as nice as I was that time.”

“Sorry, but I don’t recall you being nice at the time either,” Newt replies.

“I was... civil.”

“Mm.” He looks straight ahead, smirking and 100% not buying it.

“Oh, stop it. You don’t need some enamored woman to get me to like you.”

“Then what _do_ I need, Miss Goldstein?”

“This is getting really disgusting really fast,” Sophia says, turning around to face them and trotting backwards as she does so. “Couldja maybe save it til I can get out of earshot?”

“Maybe,” Newt says, smiling at Tina.

“Oh, Mom said I can stay at the manor if you two want the guest house to yourselves,” Sophia informs them.

“Stop calling her that.”

“Who, Mom? Stop calling Mom what?”

“Just leave it,” Tina advises her boyfriend, who's glaring at his assistant.

He listens, instead asking, “Who else is at the manor?” 

“Well, Mom and Theseus… they have guests stay over in spare rooms, but you know that. I guess there are new people coming in tonight and some are around my age, so…”

Newt furrows his brow. “Are you asking if we would like you to go sleep in a building with other young men you don't know?”

Sophia shrugs. “Basically, yeah. You guys can have the house _all_ to yourselves.”

“Can I talk to Theseus first?”

“Hey, you don't have to let me, I'm happy to just spend time with _you_ all night… we can stay up late and play _games_ in your bed… I'll be _just_ down the hall…”

“She's pretty good,” Tina says, grinning.

 _“No_ gallivanting around with young men,” Newt says sternly.

“Petting parties?”

“Petting — what are _petting parties?”_

“Don't ask,” Tina says quickly. “You _really_ don't wanna know, considering how worked up you get when a boy looks at her.”

They're nearing the guest house. “Just say the word!” Sophia sings.

Although he very much doesn't want Sophia being in the same building as young men at _night,_ Newt also doesn't want Sophia deliberately interrupting all evening, and a night with Tina alone sounds significantly appealing. He yields. “If I hear about _anything,_ you are getting a curfew and never sleeping at the manor again.”

She salutes. “Aye aye, captain.” Then she hugs him and Tina quickly. “Love you guys. Don't do anything too crazy!” and she's off, sprinting back towards the manor.

“You sure you're okay with this?” Tina asks as they walk the remaining distance.

A night with Tina alone? “Absolutely,” Newt says, and opens the door.

* * *

Beautifully illustrated by the godmother of this fic, [Fennethaniell](http://fennethianell.tumblr.com/post/157079667702/illustration-to-accompany-chapter-53-from-then), posted to Tumblr [here](http://academla.com/post/157098713477/fennethianell-illustration-to-accompany).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tomorrow Tina is off to confront Lucille! Get psyched! I'm more excited than all of you probably haha I love posting chapters as much as you (hopefully) love reading them!
> 
> Also, please leave me prompts and requests for drabbles/one-shots in the comments if you'd like, and I'll gift it to you :)


	54. There's a change in the ocean, change in the deep blue sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Newt is a cuddly octopus, and Tina and Lucille finally meet again.
> 
> The men around Lucille stand up, a few of them grumbling about empty promises, and vacate the area. Once they're gone, she places her wine glass on the piano top, then turns around slowly to face Tina, leaning back with her hands resting on the edge of the grand piano’s lid.
> 
> Tina freezes. What the —
> 
> Chapter title from “Crazy Blues” by Perry Bradford (1920)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Newtina cuddles and clingy octopus!Newt are my crack. Sorry not sorry.
> 
> TW for brief reference to physical/verbal abuse. It's very brief, but if you don't want to read that sentence, skip Lucille's 1906 flashback. There will be mentions of abuse interspersed throughout future chapters, but I will warn you accordingly and tell you where/what to skip.
> 
> I love your comments, by the way. Thank you!
> 
> PS you can add me on snapchat, if you're into that. @edye327 :) I post about writing sometimes!

_Week 5, Monday_

Tina wakes up the next morning to a drowsy Newt who now strongly resembles an exceptionally clingy octopus.

“Breakfast,” she says, trying to pry his arms off.

“Bed,” he counters, flopping half on top of her and refusing to let go.

“Newton,” she groans.

“Porpentina,” he mumbles.

“Stop it!” She struggles against him for a few minutes, then gives up. He’s wound his arms around her, head tucked over her heart, one leg sprawled over both of hers.

“Too early,” he complains.

“I have to leave soon,” she says sternly. “Today is the —”

“I know,” he says, and holds on even tighter. “Don’t go.”

She presses a kiss to his head. “I have to.”

“I’ll be very cooperative if you stay,” he offers.

“You’re never cooperative.”

"Yes, I am."

Tina flashes back to every sweet thing Newt's done and said. Although they regularly get in small squabbles (like an old married couple, her mind unhelpfully supplies) he's about as cooperative as it gets. God, she doesn't deserve him. "Yes you are," she concedes.

“Will you be careful?” he asks plaintively.

“I’m always careful.”

“Not careful enough.”

“Newt, I really need to get ready,” she says firmly, beginning to get irritated despite his endearing behavior. She wants to enjoy as much time with him as she can, and this is not exactly an appointment she can be late for.

“Do you, though?”

“I do.”

“Hmm… I don’t think you do, actually.”

“Alright, I’m getting up,” Tina says. “Officially.”

“What if I kiss you?”

“Mr. Scamander —”

“Miss Goldstein.” He opens his eyes and blinks up at her, oh so charming.

“You are terrible,” she informs him. However, as unable to resist him as ever, she obliges.

“But you like terrible,” he concludes once she’s rudely pulled away.

“Do I?”

“You do.” He kisses her one more time, then relinquishes his grip, rolling over onto his back and yawning.

She slips out of bed, stretches, and grabs her clothes. “Please don’t sleep all day,” she tells him, and goes to change.

When she returns, he’s gotten dressed, but the sort of “dressed” that he was that time at the beach, and when he’s planning to work in the case all day. The sort of “dressed” that is phenomenally, unfairly, inappropriately distracting to Tina.

“You’re mean,” she states as she comes back into the room.

“Why?” He’s wearing a plain work shirt, the top three buttons undone, sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms, which are covered in scars of varying shapes and sizes. She appreciates these more than she should.

She gestures helplessly to his general physique.

“What?” He appears genuinely confused, even though they had this exact conversation last week before dinner, except he had been in Tina's besotted shoes.

“That _outfit,”_ she complains. “You — it —”

A smirk is slowly crossing his face. “Yes?”

She pulls herself together determinedly. “Breakfast.”

“No, no, please do go on,” Newt says, leaning over and closing the door before she can escape.

“Stop it,” she snaps, and wrenches the door open.

“That’s rather rude,” he comments. Then he grabs her hand, draws her smoothly into his arms, and kicks the door shut with his foot. That _incorrigible_ man.

If they are a very little bit late to breakfast, nobody seems to notice.

* * *

Lucille gazes out the window of a dingy hotel room, waiting. When she can take the silence no longer, she grabs her travel bag and rips it open, fumbling until her fingers close around a tube of lipstick. For her meeting with Tina, she wants to be _dark,_ and so she goes for a vampy black cherry. It’s with shaking hands that she sweeps on layer upon layer of mascara, and with desperation that she ruthlessly smudges brown kohl eyeliner.

She knows she is unraveling. She knows what she looks like: pale, thin, worn. But she also knows that she has infinitely more strength than she believes — than _they_ believe — and she knows that today, she will get to put on the show she always dreamt of. It isn’t battle, yet. She’s only throwing the first punch. When she does make the kill, it’s going to be on her terms, and Tina is going to know _why._

As she slips into black leather gloves, she glances at that dark blue cloche hat. Suddenly, she’s awash with memories.

* * *

1906

_“I miss Papa,” Lucille whimpers into her mother’s arms. Then she remembers that Mama doesn’t know, doesn’t remember._

_“Who, darling?”_

_“Nobody,” she murmurs to the darkness._

_“Did you have fun with your great-grandfather?”_

The flash of a whip. Don’t cry, crying is for babies. You are nothing. _“Yes.”_

_“He loves you very much.”_

_Lucille feels like she might be sick. “Yes, Mama,” she whispers._

_The soft press of lips on her forehead, the chill as her mother relinquishes her. “You sleep well, Luce.” The covers pulled up, the pillows plumped, the light goes out._

_Lucille turns her head into the pillowcase and cries and cries._

* * *

_Papa._ She wonders still if her mother suspected anything. They didn’t call anybody Papa, after the incident in 1904. Her new great-grandfather was simply Richard. But no, she was only nine; her mother probably didn’t give it a second thought.

An owl suddenly wriggles its way through the open window, flies in, and deposits a letter. Very, very cautiously, she opens it.

_Dear Lucille,_

_We heard that you are in Scotland. Please come say hello. I am asking for all of our sakes, but especially Mum’s. We miss you. Please._

_Love,_

_Esmeralda_

It’s short and sweet and cuts through her heart like ice. Lucille sets the letter aflame and scatters the ashes out the window, where they’re carried away with the wind. Then she stands in the room, collecting herself like a thespian getting ready for the performance of her life.

Tina should arrive in half an hour now. Checking her appearance one last time, smoothing every hair into place, Lucille seizes her wand and slams the door. The makeup mirror shatters behind her.

* * *

After breakfast, Newt and Tina stroll around the island, killing time until the dreaded moment comes. Sophia and Theseus are building a new table for one of the villagers — Theseus has lent Sophia one of his massive polo shirts so she doesn’t get paint all over herself, and as a result she looks like she’s drowning — and Elsie has gone to another meeting with the council.

Newt and Tina talk about everything, as they always do, slowly memorizing each other’s stories and forging inside jokes. Sometimes, one of them legitimately annoys the other, and they walk several paces in stony silence, before either the offender apologizes or the offended party gets over it.

Newt cannot begin to describe how _little_ he wants Tina to go do this. But he has resigned himself to the fact that this is her job, and ultimately what will make her happy. Solving this problem — avenging Graham’s death (he finds out, during their walk, how much the Auror meant to her and why) — and bringing the wizarding world one step closer to potentially overthrowing Grindelwald is the only way she will be able to stay sane. Although his own sanity may take a bit of a beating in the interim, as Sophia sternly instructed him this morning, he must think long term satisfaction. And long term, he will only be satisfied once Tina is.

Elsie returns from the meeting at half past two, and joins the others in the guest house where they're observing Tina’s transformation. One of the village women generously volunteered a strand of hair; she is shorter than Tina, blond, blue eyed, and possesses what seems to be a perpetually coy smile. Elsie helps Tina apply makeup to complete the flapper look (Sophia complains that she still has horror flashbacks to her and Queenie’s venture into All Dolled Up) and Bertram whips up a dress. The final look is completely different from Tina’s usual appearance, which is tragically disconcerting.

“How do I look?” she asks nervously in another woman's voice.

“Not like yourself,” Newt says woefully.

“You look perfect,” Elsie says, frowning at her son.

“Remember to act really stuck up,” Sophia reminds her. “Like me, only a lot worse.”

“Okay.” Tina takes a deep breath. “This is it, then.”

Newt feels incredibly weird kissing someone who doesn't _look_ like Tina, so he ends up waving at her awkwardly. Sophia hugs her anyway, Theseus pats her on the back, and Elsie pecks her on the cheek.

“Alright,” Tina-not-Tina says once the goodbyes are over.

“Tina!” Newt says suddenly, just as she's about to Disapparate. “I…” _I love you. Please don't leave._ “I hope you succeed.”

She gives him a strange look, and then with a crack, she's gone.

* * *

The speakeasy is more crowded than Tina expected it might be during the daytime. She can’t decide if this is a good or bad thing. Although she wants very much to order a drink, constant vigilance is part of the Auror’s code. Instead, she takes a seat next to a goblin at the bar and sweeps the room. She doesn't actually know what Lucille looks like, which is problematic, but she’s certain that she’s well known in the area.

“Excuse me,” she says in as lofty a voice as she can muster. The goblin looks up. “Would you happen to know the whereabouts of a Lucille Wadcock?”

He narrows his eyes at her. “Depends who's asking.”

“An old friend,” Tina replies smoothly. “I was informed that she would be here this afternoon. We have a matter to discuss.”

The goblin still looks suspicious. “Yeah, alright,” he grunts skeptically, sliding off the bar stool. “She rented a private room tonight.” Tina gets up and follows, trying not to lose her composure. He leads her down a dark corridor that smells of cigars. “I'm Ragnar,” he introduces himself. “Been coming here since I was young.”

“Oh,” Tina says, and forces a laugh. “You must be very knowledgeable then.”

He stares at her intently again. “You could say that.” 

Tina is getting a bad feeling about this. She wishes desperately that Newt were here, but of course there's no way he could be. He has his job, she has hers.

They slow, approaching an open door from which smoky jazz tunes can be heard. Peering quickly inside, Tina takes inventory: the room has a grand piano in the middle of it, velveteen couches, and not much else.

“She's over there,” Ragnar mutters, pointing a gnarled finger at a woman with her back to them. She's petite, swaying her hips to the music, the stem of a wine glass balanced carelessly between the middle and index fingers of her left hand. Her hair is jet black and adorned with a shimmery silver headband. Although Tina can't see the front of her dress, it looks to be incredibly fancy, with a dropped waist and tassled beaded trim. Unsurprisingly, she's also surrounded by several men who seem to be taking it in turns to talk, ogle, and laugh at her. Tina can't tell if she's actually _speaking_ to any of them.

Well, now’s as good a time as any to find out.

“Thanks, Mr. Ragnar,” she thanks the goblin. He nods, averting his eyes, and leaves. “Okay,” Tina whispers to herself, straightening her shoulders and gripping her wand. She slowly peers into the parlor again — reminiscent of when she first encountered Newt at the bank, except this time she doesn't have a generous trench coat collar to hide behind — then clears her throat slightly and begins sauntering in, as haughtily as she can manage given that she's used to the brisk, efficient pace of an Auror.

Lucille appears to notice her from the corner of her eye, but hasn't turned around yet. Before Tina can say a thing, the flapper throws out her arms in a shooing gesture (cocking her hip just so as she does), saying, “Gentlemen, if you please.”

The men around her stand up, a few of them grumbling about empty promises, and vacate the area as she waves a coquettish goodbye to each of them. Once they're gone, she places her wine glass on the piano top, then turns around slowly to face Tina, leaning back with her hands resting on the edge of the grand piano’s lid.

Tina freezes. _What the_ —

“Hello, Miss Goldstein,” Dorothy Clifford purrs, walking towards her. “It's _lovely_ to see you again.” She waves her wand. A cigarette appears, lights itself, and hovers before her mouth. Her nails are painted bright red as her fingers close around it; winking at Tina, she blows out a smoke ring. “Isn't this the _berries?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *gasp* this probably isn't as dramatic as I feel like it is, but I was SO excited for this particular reveal. In chapter 21, as Dorothy left the bakery, I did drop a line in there saying "her expression as she makes eye contact before leaving suggests that, horrifying as it is, this may not be the last time they meet." And you'll notice that other than the hair, the physical descriptions of both Dorothy and Lucille were the same. Also, there was a reason I re-mentioned Dorothy when Tina and Newt are walking away from the ball ;)
> 
> I posted a work [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9494390/chapters/21483068) if you want to submit prompts.


	55. It seems that trouble's going to follow me to my grave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Newt is severely injured and Tina and Lucille have a heart-to-heart. 
> 
> "Mercy Lewis, that's a lot of blood,” Sophia says weakly. Newt tries feebly to help her move him, but his bones have turned to rubber. "I'll be right back!” she yells, breaking into a sprint towards his workshop. “Don't move!”
> 
> “As if I could,” he mumbles, and closes his eyes. 
> 
>  + 
> 
> “What are you going to do to me?”
> 
> “To you?” Lucille moves closer and jabs the triangle of skin exposed below Tina’s collarbone by her blouse. Her razor sharp nails leave a half moon shaped indent. “I'm going to kill you,” she breathes. 
> 
> Chapter title from “Downhearted Blues” by Alberta Hunter (1922)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here's the next chapter. I hope you enjoy the drama!
> 
> I'm posting this early because tomorrow I have a lot of schoolwork to do and won't have time.
> 
> Also, I was on a YouTube spree and I think it was Graham Norton (talking to James McAvoy and Michael Fassbender) who was like, some of these fanfics are 230,000 words long! And I'm like *raises hands* that's gonna be me...

Back on Scamander Island, Newt doesn't quite know what to do with himself. Sophia went out with Mum and Theseus, and Tina’s gone rushing into danger. After making a valiant attempt to pull himself together, he goes to the spare room and descends into the case (feeling a bit lonely without Sophia or Tina at his side), only to confront a tremendously difficult Fairclaw. The hippogriff won't eat, won't respond, and jumps away from him whenever he gets within ten feet of her. It's frightening the other creatures in the case, not to mention the magizoologist himself. 

“Come on, Fairclaw,” he murmurs, standing in front of her. "Settle down now."

She caws and flaps her wings, unable to hover more than a few feet off the ground. Her eyes are beady and distrusting. Oh, bugger. If only his _Tranquillum laeta_ spell was perfected... but he still hasn't tested it and he can't run the risk of worsening the situation.

“There's a good girl, there's a good girl,” he says soothingly, inching towards the hippogriff. She looks at him as though she doesn't know him, as though he's the type of deplorable stranger who sent her here.

“Come on, Fairclaw —”

With a massive screech and flapping of wings strong enough to send a gust of wind across the entire case, she lunges at him, one claw ripping straight through his shirt. He falls to his knees, and she flies up again, glaring down with an almost feral look in her eyes. Galloping _gargoyles,_ that hurt. Numb with pain, clutching at his chest, blood beginning to soak through his fingers, Newt starts to scramble to his feet, but he trips and tumbles down and where oh _where_ is Tina…

“OFF, Fairclaw!” Sophia comes screaming down the boardwalk. “Leave him _alone!"_  she bellows and, miraculously, Fairclaw lands on the ground again and folds her wings, looking a bit guilty. “Stay,” Sophia orders furiously. Balking in the assistant’s wrath, the hippogriff backs up several paces and then sits down, massive head bowed. “Oh, Mercy — Eunice Frye — Mary Candy and — oh, _no,_ Newt,” she cries, kneeling beside him. “Are you okay?”

Everything is starting to get a bit fuzzy. “Yes,” he lies.

“Do you really think I'm going to believe that? Okay, okay, let's get you up, we’ll just — Mercy Lewis, that's a lot of blood,” she says weakly. Newt tries feebly to help her move him, but to no avail. His bones have turned to rubber. “Right. Right. I'll be — I'll be right back!” she yells, breaking into a sprint towards his workshop. “Don't move!”

“As if I could,” he mumbles, and closes his eyes.

* * *

“You're —” Tina gasps.

“The one and only. I do like being a blonde, though,” Lucille muses, and raises a wand to tap her hair, which completes her transformation into the same woman who had been flirting with Newt at the bakery. “Now, this may all be _much_ easier if you were in your normal clothes… we want them to recognize you, of course. _Revelio.”_

Tina yelps in horror as her disguise fades, leaving her in a dress much too tight and short. Before she can even move, Lucille does something with her wand and Tina's back in her original outfit.

“That's better,” Lucille says. “Now,” she slides gracefully onto the piano top so that she and Tina are eye-to-eye, “let’s talk.”

“You sent Phillip.”

Lucille beams. “I did.”

“You —” Rage boils up. “You killed Graham.”

“Oh, I can't take credit for that. No,” Lucille says as she dismounts and walks around the piano to face Tina, running her index finger over the keys as she does so, “that was just the _genius_ work of my favorite assassin.” She’s suddenly lapsed into a Scottish brogue, which is supremely unnerving. Tina almost prefers being threatened in the American one.

“What are you going to do to me?” she asks, despite knowing the answer.

“To you?” Lucille moves closer and jabs the triangle of skin exposed below Tina’s collarbone by her blouse. Her razor sharp nails leave a half moon shaped indent. “I'm going to _kill_ you,” she breathes. Then she smiles again, backing away. “But not yet. No, I think _I_ would like to have a little chat. Get to know you. Find out how much _you_ know.”

Tina’s mind is racing. She isn't going to leave, of course; this information is much too valuable to pass up. “How much I know about what?” she asks, trying to stall for time as she frantically processes the situation.

“Mordechai,” Lucille says.

“What?”

“Ah. I see. Good.” She begins to circle Tina idly. “Perhaps we’ll save the story for another time.”

“What story?”

“Another time,” she sings glibly. “Let's talk about Grindelwald. Now, why don't you tell me what you know, and I'll tell you if it's right.”

“I don't know anything other than what MACUSA knows,” Tina says steadily.

“And what precisely does MACUSA know?”

“What everyone knows. He's behind the attacks. He wants to start a war.”

“And _why_ does he want to start a war?”

“Because he wants a new order. He wants wizards on top. He wants to expose us.”

“Excellent. You've done your homework, Miss Goldstein.” She taps her cigarette; ash cascades onto the floor. “And what connection do you think _I_ have to Grindelwald?”

“I don't know,” Tina says honestly. Lucille must have something up her sleeve — they're in a room with an open door and Tina is still armed.

Seeing her glance at the exit, Lucille smiles slyly. “Oh, you’re free to leave, Miss Goldstein. But I know you’re _going_ to stay.”

Tina takes a step towards the other woman. “Why’s that?”

“Because neither of us can turn up a _game._ You like to prove yourself. I like to show off.”

If she leaves, Lucille will no doubt get away scot-free. She’s evaded capture thus far; one look in the opposite direction and Tina will have lost her for god knows how long.

“Clever girl,” Lucille says, watching her intently. “So. Why is it that your precious President sent you scampering to _me?”_

“Because of Rubeus Ogbourne.”

Lucille could not appear less impressed.

“He gave me your name, the first time we talked.”

“Dull,” Lucille proclaims. “Seraphina Picquery closed that case. Why did she reopen it?”

“Your name came up again. And Graham left a clue,” Tina adds fiercely.

Lucille arches an eyebrow. If she's surprised, she masks it well. “Really now.”

“Yes.”

The woman doesn't ask about the clue. “And so I ask you. What do _you_ think? You know I want you dead, that I am prepared to kill indiscriminately until I get what I want. But why?”

Tina’s mind is racing.

“Go ahead,” Lucille purrs. “Guess.”

“I think you and Grindelwald are connected. I think you have the same agenda. I think you've been killing people.”

She raises an eyebrow coyly. “We _know_ I've been killing people. And I plan to kill many more.” She begins pacing. “But why, Miss Goldstein? Why? Am I just power hungry?”

Tina narrows her eyes at her. “No,” she says. “You have a different motive.”

“Correct! But what _is_ it? What could it be? I'm killing people, yes, but mostly people close to _you._ Who could be next?”

Tina’s breath catches. _Not Newt._

"Oh, no, don't be silly. I won't be coming near your boyfriend for quite some time."

So Lucille intends to, at some point. Tina clenches and unclenches her fists.“Why me?” she asks instead of giving into fear.

“I gave you the answer earlier, now didn't I,” Lucille tuts. She suddenly seizes Tina by the chin, drags her so their noses are millimeters apart. She's silent for a long moment, piercing blue eyes boring a hole in Tina's skull. Then, exhaling a puff of breath that smells of stale cigarette smoke, she whispers, “Mordechai.”

She lets go. Tina raises a hand to her face, wincing.

“You know,” Lucille continues, walking back over to the piano. “This would be much more… interesting,” she sits down at the bench and runs her fingers almost seductively over the keys, “if you actually knew. I was planning to kill you, of course,” she says offhandedly, “but oh, I would _much_ rather wait until we can have a heart to heart. And I do have something delicious cooked up that I would _hate_ for you to miss.”

“So you're gonna let me go.”

Lucille’s eyes widen. “Oh, honey!” she gasps, clasping her hand to her chest in mock horror. “I wouldn't do _that!”_

“So what are you —”

She giggles and, using the exact same move as she had at the bakery, she rests her elbow on the piano top, her chin on her hand, and — slipping back into her American accent — chirps, “You _slay_ me!”

Her eyes gleam as Tina tries not to flinch. Then, she lifts her wine glass from before and slides it effortlessly between her fingers.

“Killing… killing is only half the fun. But a statement… ooh.” She shivers gleefully. “I do love that.” She takes a sip. “I think,” she continues when she carefully puts the glass back down, “I'll play a game of hostage.”

“What's in it for you?”

“For me? _Attention._ People think I am cold because I was taught to be, attention-seeking because I was attention-deprived. What do _you_ think, Miss Goldstein?”

“I think you have other reasons. Something happened to make you want to kill me. And I think you're working for or with someone.”

Lucille stands up again, begins circling Tina. Her heels scratch against the ground, a staccato that sounds like a death sentence. “And who might I be working with?”

Tina takes a deep breath. “Grindelwald.”

Lucille’s face is impassive. “Well, I would say this is quite enough now.”

She raises her wand and shackles Tina in the same fashion as she, Newt, and Jacob had been shackled at MACUSA last year. Tina’s knees hit the floor; her wand is stolen from her grasp. Lucille says she won't kill her. But there must be some reason she would do this, dangle herself in front of everyone… she can't think she’s going to get away with it, can she?

“I may not kill you,” she says, crouching down and once again bringing her face millimeters from Tina’s, “but I have many, many plans.” She pokes Tina in the chest again, with a simpering smile and little squeak, before standing up and snapping her fingers. “Ragnar,” she commands, and the goblin appears. “Sound the alarm.”

Tina gasps. “You —”

“Sorry, Miss Goldstein,” Ragnar says, although he doesn't look it.

“You knew?”

“I’m _very_ knowledgeable.” He flashes a crooked tooth grimace.

“Now. Shall we begin negotiation?” Lucille asks, then smirks at Tina. “I forgot that you are… compromised.” Standing in the center room like a conductor about to conduct a concerto of capital punishment, she holds her wand aloft.

* * *

Sophia can barely breathe as she comes flying out of the suitcase, landing on her knees. Scrambling up from the carpet, she races to the kitchen and grabs Elsie’s arm, unable to form words, before dragging her frantically down the stairs.

“Sophia, what —?” Elsie starts, looking alarmed and trying not to trip, but then Sophia yanks her by the wrist and she can see… “Newt!” she screams, picking up her skirt and running over to the crumpled form on the boardwalk. Sophia isn't far behind, visibly shaking as she follows Elsie.

“Fairclaw attacked him, I don't know why, she's been fine with me,” she blabbers. “She never attacks, she didn’t even attack her last owner, the one that abused her. She loves Newt, I don't understand…”

“Sophia. I need you to fetch me a burlap sheet,” Elsie says in a determinedly calm voice. “I don't think I can lift him safely with magic.”

 _Burlap sheet. Burlap sheet. Burlap_ — her hands scrabble and seize the frayed edge of rough fabric. She pulls, hard; glasses and food pellets and notes all come tumbling down, but none of that matters.

“He's unconscious,” Elsie says, working quickly to move him onto the sheet. Sophia helps, her fingers getting slick with blood.

“He keeps bleeding,” she whispers hoarsely; Elsie’s face is white and drawn, but she keeps her voice level.

“It looks worse than it is. Come now, if you can get that side and… lift.” With a groan, both women manage to pick up the sheet, Newt intact.

“How do we get him back?” Sophia asks, terrified.

“We will put him in the workshop until I can see how much damage has been done,” Elsie replies stoutly.

They lay him down on the wooden floor. Elsie immediately begins searching for ingredients. “If you could take off his shirt, please, and staunch the bleeding,” she says to Sophia, opening drawers and grabbing flasks. “Find something to elevate his legs, anything to keep his head lower than the rest of his body.”

Sophia casts around; she sees a stack of books and slides them under his knees. _Blood. Staunch the blood._ Biting her lip and feeling sick with fear, Sophia hurriedly unbuttons his shirt, stained crimson, and pushes it apart to see the gash left there by Fairclaw. She stifles a gasp; though she's no expert on animal attacks, it looks _bad._

“Sophia, please staunch the bleeding,” Elsie repeats firmly from behind her, where she's emptying bottles and crushing ingredients at the speed of light. “I'm going to start with some dittany and murtlap, but you need to stop the bleeding first.”

Sophia nods breathlessly, then leans over and grabs a spare towel. Wincing in secondhand pain, she covers the wound with her hands and presses down, hard. She can feel Newt’s heart thumping, which is reassuring. 

Elsie pushes two small vials to the side on the counter. Back still to Sophia, she nods at them. “When the bleeding stops,” she instructs her. Atop Newt's worktable, flames are licking the bottom of a crucible, which Elsie watches while simultaneously grinding something in the mortar and pestle so quickly her arm seems to blur.

Sophia nods again. _“1, 2, 3, 4, 5…”_ she counts under her breath, checking every ten. Finally, she lifts the blood soaked towel and the bleeding appears to have mostly stopped. He's still unconscious. She grabs the two bottles.

“Just a few drops of each,” Elsie directs her from the counter. Off the crucible goes; the ingredients are poured into a beaker, where the liquid instantly changes color. Nodding again, because that's all she seems capable of, Sophia unstoppers each bottle and, hands shaking, pours the essences onto the wound. Before her eyes, the gash starts looking better. It's still fresh, but less so, the skin gradually closing up. The wound was _deep,_ frighteningly so, and Sophia wouldn't be surprised if it takes days to heal even with magical means.

“Blood replenishing potion,” Elsie says now, pressing a flask into Sophia’s hand. “See how much you can get in him. He can have more when he wakes up, but he lost a fair amount. How fresh was it when you found him?”

“I saw it happen, or I saw the second time Fairclaw tried to attack,” Sophia says hopelessly. “I don't know why she did that, she loves him.” Elsie is back at work, having apparently just whipped up two potions at the same time. Sophia watches in awe; potion-brewing was never her forte (she usually ended up causing minor explosions or singeing her partner's eyebrows).

“Well, we can deal with that later,” Elsie says grimly, jaw set. “It's a lucky thing you stopped the second one, or he may not have —” She snaps her mouth shut.

Sophia resolutely ignores the implication that Newt could have died and instead tentatively tries to open his jaw. She pours a little bit of the potion down his throat, but most of it dribbles out the corner of his mouth.

“Don't worry about it,” Elsie reassures her, and comes over now with a small test tube filled with golden, fizzing liquid. “It's a home recipe,” she says. “I made it for my boys all the time.” She looks positively _exhausted,_ her hair a sweaty mess, clothes thoroughly stained, and cheeks flushed from the exertion.

“Has this happened before, then?” Sophia inquires, gazing down at him.

Elsie shakes her head. “Not this bad.”

It strikes Sophia suddenly, now that the wound is cleaned, that his entire chest is covered in scars. They vary in shape and size and interrupt the smattering of freckles on his skin, making it look like an odd topography map.

"I know,” Elsie murmurs sadly, running a hand gently over her son’s abdomen. “It is who he is. I could not stop him from running into danger if I tried. No one could. Not even Tina.” She hands Sophia the healing potion. “Just a little bit at a time. You will see a glow around the skin for a second, and then it will disappear. That's how you know it worked.”

Sophia sucks in a breath and oh so carefully tips the test tube until the potion splashes onto the wound. There it is, the transient but undeniably _there_ shimmer above the skin. “Now, a bandage, and we’ll be done,” Elsie says, handing Sophia a roll of gauze. “I'll hold his head up.” She removes the books from under her son’s knees and then lifts his shoulders enough for Sophia to wrap the bandage around his upper chest, over the healing gash.

“There, now,” Elsie sighs, sitting back on her heels. “We could try to get him upstairs now, but I'm rather knackered.”

“Yeah, we can sit here with him,” Sophia agrees. Then something occurs to her. “Why’d you let me do all of it? Other than the potion?”

“Because,” Elsie says with a hint of melancholy, “eventually my boy will leave his mum again, and you are going to be with him the most — more so than Tina, being his assistant — when I cannot. I want to ensure that he is well looked after. You love him, I know.”

Sophia nods. “He's like my brother. He's done so much for me.” He's invited her into a home and a family, he's been there for her in his odd little fumbling way, he's helped her pursue her dreams, and he's understood her as much as she understands him, when neither of them are accustomed to being understood.

“And you, accordingly, are like my daughter,” Elsie replies, and wraps her arm warmly around Sophia. She rests her cheek on the younger woman’s head for a moment, then sits up. “He should wake any minute now. It will take some time for him to become fully aware, but he will be able to move if we support him. With a gash that deep — and hippogriff injuries are different from typical animal injuries — he lost a lot of blood and tissue. The potion will help.”

“D’you… d’you maybe think you could teach me the potion sometime?” Sophia asks anxiously.

Elsie smiles and kisses her on the forehead. “Of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Lucille Wadcock is her actual name; Dorothy Clifford was a pseudonym. 
> 
> I know the name isn't ideal but I didn't intend for her to be more than a referenced character, and I can't do anything about that now as it's already been used multiple times and put on a family tree (yes I take my fics very seriously), so. 
> 
> Also, guess who typed out a novel-length reflection on the development of Newt and Tina's sexual relationship? THIS GAL. 
> 
> If you want to write a smutty companion piece (which I would post as a separate work in the series and make you a co-creator), and read said novel-length reflection, you can email me at ecb327@gmail.com or hit me up on Tumblr, where I'm @academla. 
> 
> The same goes for if you'd be interested in doing fanart (but you don't have to; if you're doing fanart just drop me a message or comment and link me when you've posted it).


	56. I ain't had nothin' but bad news

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which negotiations are made, and Newt and Tina have a very large fight.
> 
> “Well, where have you been, then?” Newt asks, anger mounting. “As if you're not consistently, ceaselessly putting your life in danger —” 
> 
> “That’s what I do!” Tina bellows. “This is my job, Newt! I don't have a choice!"
> 
> “This is my job too!” he yells, gesturing to himself. 
> 
> “I'm out there trying to defeat Grindelwald. I'm out there trying to save the world. You're writing a damn book! Which one of us should be lying on the couch drinking blood replenishing potion, huh?”
> 
> Chapter title from “Crazy Blues” by Perry Bradford (1920)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it bad that this argument was one of the most enjoyable dialogues I've written?
> 
> Also, Hector Fawley was the Minister in 1927, he was known for his ebullience (in stark contrast to his predecessor), and he was often questioned for not taking Grindelwald seriously. I just made him even stupider.
> 
> This hasn't been edited yet, but as you'll see in my monstrously long end note, I wanted to post it now.

Hector Fawley dislikes conflict. Which, being Minister for Magic in 1927, is considerably problematic. It isn’t conflict aversion, per se, but he’s always been known for his ebullience and flamboyance, neither trait of which aligns well with war-torn countries. He just can’t quite take this Grindelwald business seriously. Frankly, it seems such an elaborate scheme, the thespian in him wonders if it’s all for show.

His rude awakening comes when Lucille Wadcock holds Porpentina Goldstein hostage. He’s just settling down with a cup of tea before yet another meeting about genocides and Gellert Grindelwald when a lynx Patronus appears in his office.

In a voice he doesn’t recognize, but which begins with an American accent and becomes a Scottish brogue, the Patronus opens its mouth.

 _Minister Fawley. It_ is _Minister Fawley, isn’t it?_

He nearly drops his mug. “Er... yes.”

_You might have heard of me. Lucille Wadcock._

“Y-you were supposed to be in America,” he splutters (in other words, far far away and Seraphina Picquery’s responsibility to deal with).

 _I grew up around here._ That’s when the Scottish brogue kicks in.

“So... not American?” Apparently this is his takeaway.

_Not American, no. I have somebody who may be of interest to you, Minister._

“Um... is that so?”

_Porpentina Goldstein._

“Who?”

_Porpentina Goldstein. The Auror._

Oh, yes. That. He vaguely recalls the name... wasn’t she involved in some business last year?

_You see, I am not bashful or shy. I am very much wanted, particularly in America. They believe I have a connection to Grindelwald._

“Do they,” he says faintly.

_I would like to make a deal with you. I will hand over Miss Goldstein if you will guarantee my safety as I flee._

“Y-your what?” His eyes bug out.

_Safety. This game will only work if I get away free, and you get your precious Auror back._

“And what if we don’t give you what you want?”

 _Why, I’ll kill, of course. I already tried once. I would_ hate _for Miss Goldstein to miss the fun... but I am afraid that if you do_ not _give me what I want, I will not hesitate to kill._

“So — so if we don’t arrest you,” he says, trying to wrap his mind around this, “you will let the Auror go.”

_Indeed._

“I...” He considers getting one of his advisors, or anyone. How _did_ he become elected again? Because this was certainly not what he bargained for, sitting in a room talking to the Patronus of a murderer.

_If you seek assistance, she dies._

Well then. “Er...” Before he can respond, Emmeline Carmichael, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic, walks in with an air of extreme purpose. She’s a pretty young lady with a no-nonsense attitude that rather frightens him. She stops still at the sight of the Patronus; Hector puts a finger to his lips and she freezes, watching.

_Very good. So do we have a deal?_

“Y-your safety... we won’t capture you if you...”

 _If I am found out, which I fully intend to be,_ you _will let me get away._

“Or — or else she dies? The Auror?”

 _Or else who dies?_ Emmeline mouths at him.

“Porpentina Goldstein... the American Auror?”

_I do hope there is nobody in the office with you, Fawley._

“N-no, nobody in here, not at all. Er, can I ask where you are?”

_No._

“That’s... quite definite. Alright then.”

_So we have a deal._

Emmeline shakes his head at him vehemently. He falters. “No, Miss Wadcock. I’m afraid we may have to, er...” _Negotiate!_ Emmeline mouths. “Negotiate something else.”

A rabbit Patronus scampers out of Emmeline’s wand; with a wave, she sends it... somewhere, ostensibly to raise the alarm. Good. That’s probably good.

_Hmm... I am not a patient woman, Minister. I have wanted to kill Miss Goldstein for a long time._

Bloody hell. “Just — just hold on, I...”

 _Where is she?_ Elsie mouths.

“Um... where are you again?”

_That is for me to know, and you to never find out._

Suddenly a horde of Aurors slip into the office. Emmeline takes them into the hallway to have a ten-second heated whisper-fest before coming back in. She grabs a piece of parchment, scribbles something, and hands it to Hector.

_We have a contact. She’s at the only magical speakeasy in Edinburgh. Sending backup now. Stall._

Thank god for the rest of the Ministry. “So... Lucille. Miss Wadcock. Where are you from?”

The lynx Patronus looks at him, unimpressed. Then, as presumably the Aurors have Apparated there by now, _Oh, Minister Fawley. That was a poor idea._ The lynx dissipates into a haze of silvery smoke, leaving Hector sitting there, still clutching his cup of tea.

* * *

An owl sweeps through the guest house and drops a letter on Elsie's lap as she and Sophia are watching Newt lapse in and out of consciousness. The wound is healing, but it took a lot out of an already-stressed man.

_To Whom It May Concern:_

_This note is to inform you that Porpentina Esther Goldstein, last seen at your location, has been taken hostage by a Lucille Wadcock. Aurors have arrived at the scene and will be making negotiations. Miss Wadcock has been clear that if we give her what she wants, she will readily relinquish Miss Goldstein. Accordingly, there is no cause for exceptional alarm and the situation has been contained._

_Regards,_

_Emmeline Carmichael_

_Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic_

“That’s... very not good,” Sophia says, eyes widening.

“Not good at all,” Elsie agrees, feeling faint. She sits down; Sophia, the darling girl, immediately jumps up.

“You hungry?” she asks, going to the cupboard.

“I...”

“Or just stressed? Same difference, really,” she continues, and withdraws a sleeve of crackers. Then she goes to the refrigerator, pulls out a hunk of cheese, and slices it up. “There ya go,” she says, tossing them together on a plate and sliding it over to Elsie. “Gourmet cooking at its best.”

“Thank you, dear,” Elsie says. It’s significantly different from all of the food she’s accustomed to eating at Scamander Manor, but somewhat humbling.

“So... what do we do now?”

Elsie sighs. “We wait,” she says. “We just wait.”

* * *

“Where's Tina?” is the first thing Newt asks when he opens his eyes.

Sophia and Elsie hurry over. “Oh, sweetheart,” Elsie says, kissing him on the forehead and cheek.

“Where's Tina?”

The women hesitate.

_“Where's Tina?”_

Sophia gets to do the honors. “She, um… well, you've been in and out so you wouldn't know… but, uh, she was taken hostage. She's fine,” she adds hurriedly at Newt’s thunderous expression. “Lucille doesn't plan to kill her. Oh, I know it sounds bad like that, but Lucille wants to get something out of the government and she won't if Tina's dead. So we trust… we trust her.”

“You trust the woman who wants to _kill_ Tina and has her _hostage.”_

“She'll be okay, Newtie —” Elsie says, trying to soothe him.

“And you didn't think to _tell_ me?” Newt bellows, enraged and not at all soothed. Sophia cowers.

“Newton, you were unconscious,” Elsie says gently.

“I was awake by the time you heard! I knew something was wrong, I could hear you talking —” He winces, a lance of pain shooting through his chest. “Where is she? Who has her?”

“The Ministry of Magic is negotiating right now. She’ll be fine,” Elsie reassures him, stroking his forehead.

Newt wants none of it. “She's bloody well NOT fine!” he shouts. “She’s gotten kidnapped by a maniac, she went on her _own_ — brilliant, by the way, whose _effing_ idea was that?”

“You said she could go,” Sophia says in a small voice. “You knew she didn't have backup.”

“Why wasn't anybody there? Why couldn't they _tell_ she was — something was wrong?” he demands, ready to personally hunt down and punish every innocent bystander who did nothing.

“Newt,” Sophia says as she tries to push him back down on the couch. “She's fine, she's gonna be okay —”

He shoves her off of him, hard. “You don't know that!”

“I do, _please,_ Newt,” she begs, and they stare at each other, him half sitting up on the couch, leaning on one (shaking) elbow, her standing above him, eyes sparkling with tears. “ _Please_ don't hurt yourself. You can't get up yet, you lost a lot of blood and — well, you’ve been a bit stressed, I think you’re in shock... it's over, anyway, it's out of our hands. They know where she is, they just need to get her, send her home.”

He droops, falling back down onto the couch. “You don't know what she's been through,” he says hardly. His jaw twitches. “What she just went through, because of her _BLOODY_ job.”

“Yes, but clearly yours isn't much safer,” Sophia retorts, gesturing to his general situation.

“No,” he says, and he still sounds so angry. “No, she goes and knowingly tracks down people who could _kill_ her, it's senseless…”

“That’s what she has to _do,”_ Sophia tries to explain. “It's her job —”

“I hate it,” he says in a low voice. “I hate — hate that she does this, makes these sacrifices, and I — I can't stop it. I can't…”

“I'm sorry, Newt,” is all Sophia can think to say, dropping to her knees next to him. “It'll be okay. She’ll be home. I know she will.”

“She... this bloody world is... and...”

Newt’s eyelids are starting to droop, his words more slurred. “That's normal,” Elsie reassures a horrified Sophia. “It will be the shock and exhaustion. The Scamander healing potion is quite potent and can produce rather drastic energy swings.”

“I love you,” Sophia says, and awkwardly hugs Newt from her position on the floor. “I know you hate it, but I do.”

“I love you too,” Newt mumbles before drifting off. Despite the severity of the situation, Sophia smiles.

* * *

Newt wakes up to a very angry, very _alive_ Tina. Seeing her is the most beautiful thing he's ever —

“Are you trying to get yourself _killed?”_ she screams, flinging her arms out. “What were you _thinking,_ going in there without Sophia? Without telling a soul?”

“I've been in there alone, before you or Sophia —” He looks behind Tina; Sophia is sitting in an armchair, shooting intense warning glances his way.

“Yeah!” Tina says, getting impossibly louder and throwing her hands in the air. “Yeah, you have! And what if you didn't have us now? What if you’d bled to death in a god _DAMN_ enchanted suitcase? What then?”

“Well, then, I would be d —” He sees Sophia frantically shaking her head at him, then burying her face in her hands when he doesn't stop.

Tina’s eyebrows shoot into her hairline. It's MACUSA all over again, except worse. Much worse. “I don't understand, Newt!” she cries. “How you could be so careless with your _life_ —”

“You're one to talk,” he points out. In the armchair, Sophia hits herself in the forehead. _Why._

Tina swivels around. “Excuse me?” she says in a dangerously quiet voice.

“You — you're — well, where have _you_ been, then?” he asks, anger mounting. “As if you're not consistently, _ceaselessly_ putting your life in danger —”

“That’s what I _do!_ ” she all but bellows. “This, this is my _job,_ Newt! I don't have a choice, I have to —”

“This is my job too!” he yells, pointing to himself. “I'm not just faffing around all day with some pets, Tina! I'm not! I'm doing something that —”

“That you'll write a _book_ about?” she snarls, and he feels like he’s been slapped in the face. _"I_ _'m_ out there trying to defeat Grindelwald. _I'm_ out there trying to save the world. _You're_ writing a damn _book!_ Which one of us should be lying on the couch drinking blood replenishing potion, huh?”

“Are you saying that you don't —” he starts incredulously, but she cuts him off.

“That I don't respect your work? Of _course_ I respect your work! Which is why I don't understand how you could possibly be so _stupid_ to take these risks in what _should_ be the safety of your own home! It's completely unnecessary!”

“I've been doing this for years, Tina, and these things happen! Without rhyme or reason —”

“Things like nearly getting killed? You don't care, do you? You _really_ don't care about me, or her” — she jabs a finger in Sophia's direction; Sophia tries to hide behind thin air — “or anyone!”

“Care? Of course I care! _You're_ the one who goes off chasing dark wizards and getting _cursed_ and held _hostage,_ job well done, Tina!” he shouts.

She looks angrier and fiercer than he's ever seen her. “It's my _job_ to do what's right, to be the brave one. Do you think I _want_ to leave the house every day not sure if I'll come back tonight? Do you think I _like_ knowing that every kiss could be our last? Do you think I _enjoy_ when you’re clinging to me because you can’t stand the state of the world, and I can’t do _anything_ about it?

“No, I don't! Of course I don't! But that's the way it is right now, that's how it was _always_ going to be. At least _one_ of us needs to be safe, and you were supposed to be that one, except now you've gone and done something really _idiotic._ Not to mention reckless, and stupid, and selfish. Yeah, you're being _selfish,_ Newt,” she spits.

“Selfish? How am _I_ being selfish?!” he shouts indignantly.

“You don't understand!” she screams. “I _need_ you! I can't — I can’t _lose_ you, Newt. I can't.” Her head falls, then, and all strength seems to leave her body. She drops to her knees on the floor next to the the sofa and gazes at him bleakly. “I can't lose you. I lost Ma and Pa. I lost Alec. I lost Graham. I’m going to lose more people. _I can't lose you.”_

“Tina, I…” He reaches out a hand and gently touches her hair. She grasps his wrist, pressing his fingers against the side of her face, and closes her eyes for a moment.

“I'm sorry,” she says quietly.

“No, I… I shouldn't have yelled.”

“You were scared. We both were.” She sighs, then gets to her feet. “Come on,” she says, and helps Newt into a partial sitting position, so she can slide onto the couch and settle down with his head in her lap. He's feeling really quite drained (having a shouting match is probably ill-advised when recovering from blood loss) and closes his eyes as she starts to stroke his forehead. “We’ve got to stop this,” she says.

“Mm.”

“No, I mean it, Newt. We can't always be angry with each other for getting hurt.”

“I think my anger was justified. You’re the one who started it,” he adds petulantly. She leans down and kisses him quickly, awkward given the angle but no less tender.

“We both started it. I... it wasn’t your fault. You didn’t think Fairclaw would do something like that.”

“I don’t understand,” he mumbles.

“Yeah, I — hey, you okay?” Newt’s head lolls. “Is he okay?” she asks Sophia in alarm.

“He’s fine, he’s just tired, was attacked by a hippogriff, lost a lot of blood, you know, then got chewed out by his girlfriend, who was just held hostage...” Sophia shrugs. She comes over and perches herself on the arm of the couch. “So. What happened?”

Tina sighs. “You’ll never guess.”

“Try me.”

“Remember I mentioned that day at the bakery, when I ran into that woman who was flirting with Newt?”

“Oh yeah.”

“It was her.”

“What?”

“It was Lucille.”

“Who? What?”

“The woman.”

“She... she was _there_ the whole time at the bakery? She was talking to you?”

“Yep. And flirting with my boyfriend,” Tina adds, still holding a major grudge.

Sophia gapes. “What did you say?”

“She kept saying she wanted to kill me, but she wants to put on a show. Which is good, because I got out of there, but I don’t know what else she’s planning. She hinted that she had another plan. And she definitely has a connection to Grindelwald. I just don’t know what.” Tina looks distraught. “I feel like I failed."

“Oh, dry up right now.” Sophia scoffs. “She didn’t give you any clues?”

Tina frowns. “She did. When I asked why she wanted to kill me. ‘Mordechai.’ I have no idea what that means.”

“Mordechai,” Sophia repeats. She looks somber for a moment, then says decisively, “Well, we’re gonna find out.”

“We are?” Tina asks weakly.

“Oh, Mary, Candy, and Tituba, don’t do this,” Sophia groans. “Don’t go all mopey and defeatist, it isn’t attractive and it makes things a lot more annoying for all of us.”

“I’m not —”

Sophia hops off the arm of the couch so she can grip Tina by the shoulders. Sitting like this, they’re eye-to-eye. “You got this. You are smart. You are _brave,_ obviously, you just went through a whole ordeal with a murderer holding you hostage and you’re sitting here complaining about how she flirted with your boyfriend. We’ll figure it out. I dunno how, but I’ll help ya however I can. We can go to the library and try to narrow it down. Is it a place? A name?”

“I have no idea. Could be either.”

“Alright. Well, we can deal with that later. Hey, Theseus!” she calls.

Theseus peers cautiously out from behind the corner, where he’s clearly been eavesdropping.

“How much of that didja hear?”

“Of the argument? I daresay the entire island heard it —”

“No, I mean what Tina just said.”

“Oh. Only a smidge.”

Tina recaps for him; he sits down on the floor, cross-legged, beside Sophia. Which is a very amusing sight somehow, this muscled war hero sitting daintily, as though ready for a tea party, next to someone half his size.

“We’ll figure it out, right?” Sophia says.

“Absolutely,” Theseus reassures the room.

Sophia beams. “Swell. Now," she turns towards Tina, "we can either all drag Newt up to your bedroom together, or you can sit there whispering sweet nothings into his ear until he wakes up. Theseus and I are gonna go get Mom, I’m sure she’ll want to see you and make sure you’re in one piece. She had to run down to Wyverthwaite ‘cause someone raised the alarm and now everyone’s panicking.”

“I can stay here,” Tina replies. “But maybe stop with the ‘Mom’ thing? At least until Newt’s recovered.”

“I can call her what I want. Theseus doesn’t mind, does he?”

Theseus grins. “Better than calling me —” He stops. “Never mind.”

Sophia’s jaw drops in delight. “Oh my god, do you have a pet name? Does Mom call you something embarrassing?”

“No. You will never find out,” he pledges.

“I will, I _totally_ will,” Sophia gushes. “Come on.” She jumps up; Theseus follows suit. “I can’t wait to see _Mom!”_ she calls back pointedly as they open the door.

“I heard that,” Newt grumbles from Tina’s lap, eyes still closed.

* * *

 

PHENOMENALLY illustrated by my absolute favorite, [Fennethianell](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Fennethianell/pseuds/Fennethianell). The original post can be found [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8732014/chapters/21566837).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I hope this left off on a slightly better note now that things are somewhat resolved for the time being and we're in less of an emergency situation. I'm sorry for the angst *cringes* BUT IT CAN BE ALL FLUFFY NOW
> 
> Second of all:
> 
> ETA: TL;DR - I saw the "Newt is not a cinnamon roll" post on Tumblr and got really stressed and insecure and felt like I was being called out (indirectly) because my Newt is anxious/unsure/etc. I felt badly about my writing, but people have since emphatically reassured me that my portrayal of Newt (and this fic overall) was not what that post was referring to; my Newt is still badass (obviously okay he punched Phillip in the face and in upcoming chapters spoiler alert he's going to try to punch another guy), he just cares a ton and doesn't know how to show it yet, but he's already gotten SO much more comfortable and confident with Tina. Character development all the way!
> 
> In the meantime, you can still see me on tumblr (@academla) and Snapchat (@edye327)! If you post fanart to Insta, my Insta is @edyebenedict, but otherwise I don't go on there anymore. Thank you x10000 for your support; I was not expecting it and it's been incredible!
> 
> ETA2: Really appreciate all the comments, I love you guys. I'm still on hiatus from this, but will be working on prompts from [this](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9494390/chapters/21483068). Again, I can't express enough how much your support means to me and I will reply as soon as I'm able!


	57. Now I got the crazy blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everyone is glum, Ignotus is being a pain, and Sophia and Theseus are besties.
> 
> “Ignotus heard about Tina, and came storming over here to give Mum a piece of his mind about having an Auror on the island. Mum told him off, but Poppy overheard more yelling and sent David over, and now the three of them are arguing about what to do with Tina."
> 
> “They can’t send her away, can they?”
> 
> Theseus presses his lips together, mouth forming a straight, grim line. “If Ignotus can convince David that Tina must go, it will be very difficult and potentially detrimental to the islanders’ trust if Mum tries to go against it.”
> 
> Chapter title from “Crazy Blues” by Perry Bradford (1920)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really appreciate all of your comments on my last chapter and I will be replying to each and every one eventually! I was going to hold off, but I'm feeling a bit better today so I decided to post this in gratitude :) As I posted on Snapchat (I'm @edye327 if anyone is wondering), I spent precalc working on/pretty much finishing plot, so...
> 
> Enjoy! Things are gonna be a bit rocky in upcoming chapters, especially with Ignotus being a prick, but what can ya do. At least Soph and Theseus are gonna be spending some more time together, for those Sopheus shippers out there ;)
> 
> Sometimes I'm like, oh man, I make Newt and Tina kiss way too much, but then I'm like, there is no such thing as too many Newtina kisses and cuddles.

“Knock, knock,” Theseus says gently, rapping on Tina and Newt’s door and poking his head in.

Newt and Tina are sitting in their bed looking very glum. Theseus stands in the doorway for a minute, swinging his arms before clasping his hands together as though ready to speak. Then he stops, glances around, and seats himself in an armchair.

“Well, the good news is, I think you beat the record for ‘loudest domestic on Scamander Island.’ Poppy came by to ask if everything was alright. Mum told her it was ‘just a little squabble,’ then Poppy asked if she could please tell you lot to stop being so dramatic and make up. She also wanted you to know that you both made very good points, and that young people need to start taking care of themselves more. And lastly, she said that the two of you are bringing the wizarding world joy, and that she hopes to see Tina again next year.”

“Splendid,” Newt says flatly.

“Oh, Newton,” Theseus sighs, leaning back in the chair with his hands behind his head. “What are we going to do with you?”

“I don't know,” he says, and he sounds so _young._ Sophia’s right — he’s lost weight, he has bags under his eyes, and it's obvious that beneath his shirt he's got a bandage shielding a nasty wound. This Grindelwald/Lucille/Tina business is really taking a toll. Theseus looks at his girlfriend; their eyes meet in silent understanding. _I love him too._

Tina kisses Newt tenderly on the cheek before settling back against the pillows also looking exhausted. Oh, for — they've all been so busy dealing with the hippogriff attack they seem to have forgotten what the Auror’s been through. “Tina, are _you_ okay?”

“I don't know,” she answers honestly.

“She didn't — she didn't _torture_ you or anything, did she?” he asks in a low voice.

“No. She just wanted to hold me hostage. She got away though.” There's a familiar bitterness, disappointment in her own failure despite the perfectly excusable extenuating circumstances, in her voice. Theseus has felt it all too often.

“Forgive me if I'm overstepping my bounds," he says, "but I rather feel like you're underreacting. Was it not even slightly terrifying?”

“Not as terrifying as Newt nearly getting killed,” she replies grimly. “Elsie said that if he was a No-Maj he wouldn't have made it, even after that one attack. No-Majs can't treat hippogriff wounds like that.”

“It doesn't make sense,” Newt says quietly. “Fairclaw loved me, and she _never_ attacked anybody, even before I got her. It was like she turned _against_ me. I... I don't understand.”

“Did you spook her somehow?” Tina asks.

“No, I fed her this morning and I noticed she was a bit antsy. I thought it was temporary… but when I went down to check on things she was acting as though I was going to _hurt_ her.” His eyes look rather teary at this. The poor fellow. He’s always been so gentle with his creatures, and to feel as though he’s let one of them down or lost their trust must be devastating.

“She knows you wouldn't hurt her,” Tina reassures him, pulling his head down onto her shoulder. He turns his face into her neck and simply _breathes_ as she runs her fingers through his hair. Theseus is suddenly struck with emotion — not just because his brother and (hopefully) future sister-in-law were put in near death situations, but because it's so blatantly apparent that these two _care_ about one another. It reminds him of the war, of his own… but he can't go into that now.

Newt says something unintelligible.

“You tired?” Tina asks. Newt readjusts his position, so one eye peeks out, but he still clings to his girlfriend in a way Newt never clung to anyone.

“What do you think?” he says drily.

She laughs and looks at him with such warmth and _love_ that Theseus doesn't even know what to do with himself. If they don't say it… he had been ready to strangle Newt when he said he _almost_ told Tina that he loves her. Granted, waiting until you’re sure is completely understandable and the safest course of action.

However, in the current day and age it's not uncommon to be married in your early twenties, and Newt is substantially past that benchmark. For god’s sake, it's _painfully_ obvious that the two of them love each other; Theseus is fairly certain that their 5-week relationship is the emotional equivalent of a regular person’s 5-month one, perhaps longer. They legitimately act married half the time — not to mention the fact that any sane man would realize after his girlfriend almost dies _twice_ that perhaps it's time to not have regrets.

At any rate, it isn't Theseus's job to dissect and criticize his brother’s love life, particularly seeing as he himself has experienced very little movement in that direction. (That has an entirely different explanation, though, which he is most definitely not exploring right now.)

“Right,” he says, clearing his throat and standing up. “I imagine you two will want a lie-down.”

Newt nods. They really are in bad shape; although Tina’s holding it together fairly well, it isn’t hard to tell that she’s just as stressed as Newt about this entire situation. Who can blame her?

“Good, good,” Theseus says gruffly. He unfolds himself from the chair and then walks over to the bed. There, he rests his hand heavily on Newt’s head. “It will be okay, Newton.”

“Thanks, Theseus,” Tina says quietly. Theseus pecks her on the cheek, then retreats, closing the door gently behind him.

* * *

Meanwhile, Sophia is in the case trying to solve one half of the mystery (the other one being this whole “Mordechai” business). “Why’d you do that?” she murmurs, stroking Fairclaw, who purrs and rubs up against Sophia’s hand. “Hmm? You love Newt.”

It just doesn’t make _sense._ Could someone have tampered with the creatures? But no, that’s impossible. The case is positively shrouded in protective spells — she, Elsie, Theseus, and Tina made sure of _that,_ and even put up extra magical safety precautions around the guest room currently housing it. It would be extraordinarily difficult to slip in unnoticed, curse just one of the creatures, and leave. Besides, everyone else in the case, including Dougal, seems unperturbed. If someone had really tampered, the beasts would be much more traumatized.

Sophia finds it hard to believe that Newt could’ve done something to elicit such an attack. Things _do_ happen, though... perhaps he smelled a certain way, or looked at Fairclaw wrong. She goes about the rest of their typical chores, then sits at Newt’s desk and rifles through a stack of papers until she finds a journal with only one used page. Flexing her fingers before grabbing a quill, she starts to write down what she knows.

  * Fairclaw attacked Newt 1ce with her L claw and attempted a 2nd time
  * F. acted like she didn’t know N./he was trying to hurt her
  * Lucille posed as Dorothy & flirted with Newt at the bakery (real name = Lucille Wadcock?)
  * Lucille has a connection to Grindelwald & wants to “put on a show”
  * Mordechai?????



It’s hardly anything to go on, but at least this way Sophia can keep her thoughts and findings straight. The sun in the suitcase is beginning to set; her stomach growls, reminding her that despite the chaos that's just ensued, food is still very much a necessity (particularly for her. Sophia hungry is worse than Sophia on caffeine). After one last look-over, she climbs back up the stairs.

When she steps out, she hears voices coming from the first floor. Angry, intense, the-world-is-falling-to-pieces voices. Frowning, she tiptoes to the little balcony on the upper level, from which she can see a few people sitting around the kitchen table. Of course it’s Ignotus, David, and Elsie, with Theseus standing off to the side, arms crossed. She catches his eye and shoots him a questioning look. He runs his fingers wearily through his hair, shaking his head and aiming a rude hand gesture at Ignotus’s back. Suppressing a snicker, she mouths, _Can I join?_

He glances over at the group, who are all huddled together looking at something, then jerks his head towards the half-hidden side door. She scampers down the stairs quietly, pops outside, and then back inside to meet him in the mud room.

“What’s going on?” she asks, nearly running straight into the war hero.

Theseus utters a noise of annoyance. “Ignotus heard about Tina, and naturally came storming over here to give Mum a piece of his mind about having an Auror on the island. Mum told him off, of course, but Poppy overheard _more_ yelling and sent David over, and now the three of them are arguing about what to do with Tina and with the island. I am afraid that whatever patience I had left after managing the past few days is rapidly evaporating.”

“They can’t send her away, can they?”

Theseus presses his lips together, mouth forming a straight, grim line. “We will do our utmost to prevent it. Mum has a lot of power, but the problem is that we always kept the power evenly distributed. It worked until now.”

“What does that mean?”

“If Ignotus can convince David that Tina must go, it will be very difficult and potentially detrimental to the islanders’ trust if Mum tries to go against it.”

“Oh, Mercy.” Sophia slumps against the wall, then slides down and lands on her bottom with a thump. She buries her face in her hands, groaning. Theseus doesn’t look much better off. “Theseus, what are we gonna do?”

He shakes his head hopelessly. “I have no idea.”

“Tina isn’t _safe_ off this island! They can’t send her back out there, they don’t know where Lucille is, the government had to let her go in order to save Tina.”

“After what happened to Newton, I am not so certain she will be safe on this island either,” Theseus points out.

“Oh _no,_ this is so bad,” Sophia whimpers.

“Hey.” He reaches down and grabs her shoulder. “Look at me.” She does, bleakly. “Stiff upper lip,” he says firmly. “Don’t you dare start bemoaning the current state of affairs. Tina and Newt do an excellent job of that already. You and I are the rational ones here.”

“And Mom,” Sophia adds.

“And Mum,” Theseus agrees. “Although I daresay she has her hands full and her patience wearing thinner by the second.” They both peer in through the side door; Ignotus is gesticulating wildly with his hands, David is visibly distraught, and Elsie looks as though she’s ready to drink ten bottles of Firewhisky and then sleep for the next hundred years.

“Yeah, you’re right. Don’t wanna be a Tina,” Sophia quips, getting to her feet. “What do we do? We have to do something!”

“I’m afraid it is out of our hands when it comes to council business,” Theseus says reluctantly. “That is for them to decide, to work out amongst themselves.”

“But they’re gonna do a rotten job,” Sophia complains. “Unless Mom makes them see sense. David seems kinda wishy washy, and Ignotus has the whole angry, ‘everyone listen to me because I know how to yell’ thing going for him. You think he’ll win David over?”

“I wish I was more confident,” Theseus admits. “For now, shall we focus on the task at hand?”

“What task?”

“Tina and Newt. Mordechai.”

“Oh yeah!” Sophia reaches into her pocket and withdraws the battered notebook. “I started a list. To keep track of stuff we figure out.”

He ruffles her hair affectionately. “Good one, sis.”

“I just don’t know where to _start.”_

“Well.” Theseus stretches and checks his watch. “We should get something for dinner soon, and perhaps check on Tina and Newt eventually.”

“You think they’ll wanna join us for dinner?”

“I had thought we might go into Wyverthwaite, but given that they will no doubt be the talk of the town and recipients of impolite stares, perhaps we ought to change tack. We could try to eat here.” He half-stands to peer through the window again. “However, I give this meeting a very _very_ small chance of ending anytime soon.”

“The manor?” Sophia suggests hesitantly, cringing. “I mean… it probably isn’t much better than Wyverthwaite, but there are a crapton of rooms.”

Theseus looks past Sophia's shoulder, where the sun is setting over the water. “You know what?” he says, and drags her to her feet. “We have a beach for a reason, and not just so that my brother and his girlfriend can frolic and snog on it.”

“Isn’t it kinda in the open?” Sophia asks dubiously.

Theseus brandishes his wand. “That, my dear Sophie, is why we have magic.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for the support! I'm incredibly relieved to hear that you enjoy my writing (and characters, OCs included) and don't feel that my Newt is some hackneyed cinnamon roll. Because I do think he's pretty damn strong and badass; I've just added a (realistic, I think) layer of sensitivity and complexity to him. Plus I'm so attached to this fic and these are my babies, so it means a lot to get positive feedback.
> 
> Anyway, coming up in the next few chapters:  
> -Tina takes Newt's shirt off *smirks*  
> -Sophia and Theseus are just really good together okay  
> -Madam Picquery sends a letter (for those of you who love Seraphina)  
> -Lucille is murderous for the wrong reasons  
> -ONE OF MY FAVORITE CHAPTERS TO WRITE I'm excited for you all to read it! I love angry Newt. A lot.  
> -Then a lot of angst and Sophia fixing stuff, sorry, but then beachy fluff


	58. With all your faults, I love you still

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tina tends to an insecure Newt (aka, takes his shirt off for the first time), Sophia is too shrewd for her own good, and Madam Picquery sends Theseus an owl.
> 
> “I… if you don't want me to —”
> 
> “No, I just…” Am ashamed of how I look, and how many battles I've been through, and stupid mistakes I've made, not to mention being self conscious in general about my everything. And you're beautiful and I'm… 
> 
> “Newt, it's either me or I get someone else, but you can't just lie here throwing up in pain while you decide.”
> 
> “No, it's —” He doesn't want to do this. He doesn't. He doesn't want her to see. But he also doesn't feel like getting somebody else, and regardless of his own insecurity the touch he trusts the most is Tina’s.
> 
> Chapter title from “It Had To Be You” by Isham Jones (1924)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick shoutout to whoever sent me the FB screenplay awhile ago (doubt you're reading this; you're one of my followers) because it's been wonderful to use as reference for lines and such. That's one of those luxuries I can't afford paying my own way through life/college and it's always appreciated.

Newt wakes up, moves, and immediately regrets it.

“Are you okay?” Tina asks urgently when he probably makes some sort of pained noise.

“Mm,” he lies. If he stays very very still...

“Is it the — the gash?”

“Might be,” he says somewhat sarcastically, attempting to sit up and failing miserably. “Ah, that… hurts.”

Tina turns on the light — he throws an arm over his eyes with a note of protest — and sits up, resting on her elbow and looking down at him in concern. He smiles feebly and tries to pretend like he doesn’t feel as though he’s just been beaten up about twenty times. Which he essentially has. “What’s wrong?”

“Got attacked by a hippogriff, see,” he says, wincing.

“Well, tell me what to do!" she says in the same tone with which she'd once told him to look for the niffler.

 _Then look for it! Look!_ He has no idea why he continually flashes back to their first day together, but it brings an inexplicable rush of fondness every time.

"What can I get you?” Tina asks impatiently when he doesn't respond.

“Something — for the — pain — might be — nice,” he grunts. Galloping gargoyles, that really hurts. His stomach is swirling, too… oh _no._ He reaches for the bin just in time before retching. “Oh, I'm sorry, Tina,” he apologizes, feeling mortified and guilty. “Y-you can get Mum —”

“Newt, it's fine,” she says, and gently pushes his hair off his forehead. “Is this normal?”

“Could be the pain,” he says, gritting his teeth.

She heaves a sigh of relief. “You don't think you're poisoned, or anything?”

He shakes his head. Simply reaching for the wastebasket, however, stretched out the still-healing wound (he can practically feel his skin _ripping),_ which in turn makes his stomach churn again. This is the absolute last state he wants his girlfriend to see him in. Before he can speak, he feels his insides turn over and in a flash Tina is there, holding the bin in front of him as he dry heaves. This is _awful —_ humiliating beyond belief, to be doing this in front of her. He wants to sink into a hole and disappear.

“Sorry,” he says miserably once he can speak. “You — you don't need to stay — I’m sure Sophia is around…”

“Are you kidding me, Newt?”

He looks up at her through sweaty fringe that really could use a trim.

“I'm not gonna leave you,” she says gently, and brushes his hair off his face again. “Besides, don't forget I raised Queenie on my own for five years. I've cleaned up my fair share of vomit.”

“Charming,” he says, and winces again.

“Okay, do you need to go downstairs, or — or in the case, or anything?”

“If I could move, perhaps.” He grimaces. “There should be potions in the bathroom somewhere, Mum always kept them for when Theseus and I stayed here. I'm afraid the dressing should be changed, and that's a — well, a hassle, really, erm… if you fetch Sophia, she fixed me up when this happened, she’ll know where Mum left everything.”

“No, I can do it,” Tina insists, her chin jutting out stubbornly. “What do I look for? Gauze, dittany, murtlap?”

“If there's a beaker with golden liquid, that too,” he manages. “Thank you.”

She pushes his bangs off his forehead again and cups his face in her hands for a moment, just gazing at him (he attempts a reassuring smile and fails) before standing up and heading down the hall.

Newt lies in bed, trying to breathe through the pain. He's never sustained something like this — the way Fairclaw attacked, it wasn't just as though he scared her, it was as though she genuinely _hated_ him, as though she was being deliberately aggressive. A gash from a spooked beast shouldn't have this much trouble healing or be so deep.

Tina returns a few minutes later with the correct potions and a roll of gauze. “Okay,” she says breathlessly, and rolls up her sleeves. “Tell me what to do.”

It occurs to him abruptly that she's going to have to take off his shirt, and she's never seen him like that before, and all of a sudden the fear of her potential response throbs more painfully than the wound itself.

“Newt?”

“I…” He looks at her hopelessly.

“Oh,” she says, finally putting two and two together. “I… if you don't want me to —”

“No, I just…” _Am ashamed of how I look, and how many battles I've been through, and stupid mistakes I've made, not to mention being self conscious in general about my everything, when it comes to you. And you're beautiful and I'm…_

Tina seems to run out of patience as he panics internally. “Newt, it's either me or I get someone else, but you can't just lie here throwing up in pain while you decide.”

“No, it's —” He doesn't want to do this. He doesn't. He doesn't want her to see. But he also doesn't feel like getting somebody else, and regardless of his own insecurity the touch he trusts the most is Tina’s, and so he gestures to his shirt.

She unbuttons it slowly, wary of accidentally brushing up against the wound, and when the last button is undone she glances up at him, biting her lip. In for a knut. He nods.

She slowly peels open his shirt, exposing a myriad of scars, still more hidden by the bandage. He can't read her expression at all as she takes it in, but then she runs her hands almost reverently down his sides, fingers tracing over each mark, and he forgets how to breathe. She stops, both hands resting just below the bandage, and then carefully leans over and kisses him, despite the fact that he just vomited and his lips are chapped and he's certain he can't smell all too pleasant either. She breaks the kiss a few seconds later, evidently realizing that they have a serious wound to tend to, but looks at him with some _emotion_ in her eyes that nearly unravels him. As though he matters. As though she loves him, almost. But that's foolish.

“Okay,” she says a bit breathlessly. “Now what?”

“Unwrap the bandage, if I can —” He struggles to lift his shoulders enough for her to get under and undo the gauze. Although he tries valiantly to act nonchalant, he hisses in pain when she gets to a layer of fabric closer to the wound.

“I'm so sorry, Newt,” she whispers, pausing. Before he can lie and say that it's fine (what’s the point, really?), she kisses him again, and his hand comes up to cup her face as she manages to rip the last section of the bandage off. He jolts; pain still shoots through him like fire, but he has to admit the distraction was genius. “Are you okay?” she asks anxiously.

“If you do that again, then I shall be healed in no time,” he replies.

They both look down at the laceration; Tina gasps and squeezes his hand, hard. It's healing over as it's supposed to, but it's still raw and expansive and angry red and weeping. “Newt,” she murmurs, and kisses him on his forehead. “I'm so sorry.”

“It's fine,” he says.

“No, I'm — I'm sorry this happened, it looks really bad.”

“I've seen worse,” he lies again, biting his lip as a wave of pain rolls over him.

“Okay, what do I do now?”

“A couple drops of the dittany and murtlap. It isn’t bleeding, which is a good sign, it just _hurts.”_

She nods and reaches for the bottle. He yelps when the first drop hits the raw skin. “Newt!”

“Sorry, so sorry, it's... I was unconscious the first time this was done,” he manages. The liquid works quickly, though, and the sting fades in a moment.

“What’s this?” she asks, holding up the Scamander healing potion.

“Mum made it for Theseus and I," Newt explains. "We tried it on some other children once, but it didn’t work as well for them. It heals most serious injuries. Never something as bad as this, though,” he gestures to the gash, “so I presume a higher dosage may be called for.”

“Okay, I’m gonna... I’m gonna put a few drops on, and it’s probably going to sting,” she says.

He nods and reaches for her hand. The beaker tips, he squeezes her fingers, and then the pain fades away. “Thank you,” he says, letting go.

“Really, Newt, it’s the least I could do,” she says, reaching for the gauze. “And now this?”

“Yes,” he says in relief.

“Tell me if it’s too tight.” She begins winding it around his chest expertly. The first few layers, closer to the wound, do hurt, but by the time she’s finished it off and tucked the loose end under, the pain has subsided significantly. They both sigh when it’s over.

“Thank you,” he says again.

“You’re always welcome, Newt,” she replies softly, resting her hands lightly on his abdomen.

“I’m sorry about that,” he apologizes, gesturing to her hands. “The... I know it isn’t the — the most _appealing —”_

“It’s beautiful,” she whispers.

Perhaps the wound is infected, and he’s now experiencing hallucinations. “S-sorry, what?”

“You’re...” She bites her lip and looks away. “Never mind.”

“No, I’m what?”

“No, it’s dumb.”

He grabs her hand. “Stop saying everything is dumb. When it comes to you, nothing is ever dumb.”

“I...” She shakes her head. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m afraid I _am_ worrying about it, given that I have no idea whether you were about to insult or compliment me.”

She looks at him affectionately and reaches for his shirt to start buttoning it up again. “Compliment. Definitely.”

He very much wouldn’t mind continuing this conversation, but in the case that his semi-nudity is making her uncomfortable he decides not to press it. Instead, he falls back against the pillow and allows her to do up the last buttons. Tina fixes his lopsided collar — an oddly domestic gesture — before sliding into bed next to him. 

“What d’you want to do now?” she asks softly.

“Sleep,” he replies, already closing his eyes and leaning into her. He can tell she isn’t about to follow suit. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, just... thinking,” she replies.

“Mm.” He tries to move to put his arm around her, but his wound protests, so he has to stop, grimacing.

“Don’t worry about it,” she says, drawing him into her arms. She’s sitting up, and rests his head lightly on her stomach, laying a hand gently on his hair. “Go to sleep.”

“Mm,” he agrees.

Just as he’s drifting off, however, there’s a loud knock on the door. Tina calls, “Come in!”

Sophia and Theseus stand there with a picnic basket and bottle of wine. “Dinner?” Sophia asks brightly.

“We just changed Newt’s dressing,” Tina explains. “He’s really tired.”

“I guess that’s what a hippogriff will do to you,” Sophia says begrudgingly. “Well, Theseus has set up a fancy sound and sight barrier on the beach in case you wanted to come eat with us uninterrupted and un-gawked at.”

“I think Newt just wants to sleep,” Tina replies hesitantly.

“Newt?” Sophia asks, and suddenly her face fills his field of vision.

“Leave me alone,” he mutters, trying to hit her.

“Fine, but can Tina come?”

He hesitates a beat too long.

“Well then, I guess it’s just you and me,” she says chirpily to Theseus.

“Oh, no — Tina, y-you can go, you should go if you —”

“I’d rather stay with you,” she says firmly. “I have to keep an eye on my eccentric magizoologist, don’t I?”

“Gross,” Sophia comments, then shrugs. “We’ll be out back if you change your mind.”

“Feel better, brother,” Theseus says somberly, patting Newt on the head before following Sophia out of the room.

* * *

“The nearest library is on land,” Theseus tells Sophia as they dig in. “We can Apparate there tomorrow.”

“You think it'll be safe?”

“As safe as anywhere is right now.”

She nods. “Alright. Newt looked bad.”

“He has not had an easy time of it lately,” Theseus replies. “It's been less than a week since Tina was cursed.”

“Jeepers, you're right,” Sophia realizes. “It seems like so long ago.”

Theseus smiles sadly. “Such is the nature of a world at war.” In the trenches, time went by agonizingly slowly; seconds stretched into hours and then days and months. He's done a good job not ruminating on his war experiences since returning, but every so often his mind returns to the heartbreak...

“Wanna talk about it?” Sophia’s voice cuts through his thoughts.

“Talk about what?”

“The war.”

“Not particularly.”

“Oh, okay.” She pauses, watching him shrewdly. “It wasn't just the stuff you saw.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“There was something else that happened during the war, wasn't there?”

Yes. “No, I haven't the faintest —”

“You were in love,” she announces.

This young woman is _good,_ frighteningly so. Even hearing the words out loud hurts more than he could have anticipated.

“Oh, you don't need to tell me about it,” she says offhandedly, reaching for the wine bottle and taking a swig. “But if you feel like it.”

“I… I shall keep that in mind.”

She grins. “Swell.” They eat in silence for a few moments before she pipes up, “So when d’you think it'll be safe to go back?”

“Not for a couple of hours,” he estimates, glancing back at the guest house.

Sophia sighs. “I hate waiting.”

“Me too,” he agrees quietly. “Me too.”

* * *

Dear Mr. Scamander,

I heard about the events that transpired today. I must admit, I am rather concerned. While I am, of course, greatly relieved that Porpentina survived, it is more foolish than I think the Ministry of Magic comprehends (or Hector Fawley, at least — how your country isn’t in pieces yet, I don’t know) that they would allow Lucille to slip away like that. I understand that nothing is worth an Auror’s life, but still.

As for your brother’s attack, are we quite certain there is no sabotage involved? One of the more frustrating things about Newt is the fact that he seems to share a bond with his creatures that is impossible to break. As such, I find it difficult — though not impossible — to believe that one of his rescued hippogriffs might suddenly lash out against him. From the sounds of it, this was not merely a frightened creature, but an angry one. There is no way your brother could be under the influence of someone else, is there?

I am in no position to begin delegating, but I would hope that once Newt and Porpentina are recovered, you will be able to compose a plan of attack. If they would like to return to New York, they are more than welcome. In the meantime, please see to it that neither of them falls into a pit of despair. If they are incapacitated, then the world is sure to come crumbling down.

What do you think of Miss Ollerton? Although I would have never expected to be recommending a 20-year-old as a war hero’s advisor, she is one of the cleverer people I have met, and I do believe that she could be of great use during this time.

MACUSA is spread thinner by the second. We have had to deploy Aurors and even Aurors-in-training to control the attacks, so there is quite literally no room for further investigation into this Lucille business. My concern is that while Lucille’s agenda seems to revolve around Porpentina specifically, her success will eventually bleed into Grindelwald’s success as well, and I firmly stand by the belief now that there is some connection between the two of them. Therefore, the importance of this investigation must not be underestimated.

Please keep in touch. I never thought I would be deferring to you and Miss Ollerton for advice or aid, but then again I never thought I would be going gray in my 30s and attempting to hold together a country that’s steadily ripping at the seams. We all must make sacrifices.

My horrid brother Ewan would like you to pass his regards to Sophia. I do not deign to comment on that.

Regards,

Seraphina Picquery

* * *

Dear Madam President,

Thank you for your correspondence. Sophia and I have gotten along quite well, and I must say that your prior warning was entirely appropriate and possibly even understated. She has already begun calling my mother “Mom.” Fortunately, she and I have fabricated some sort of an ill-formed plan, but a plan nonetheless.

I have no gauge as to when my brother and Tina may recover — Newt is the one who sustained a physical injury, which will likely take a few days to heal. Tina, on the other hand, is “not the most stable person in the universe,” according to Sophia, and as of now all bets seem to be off regarding their joint recovery. Rest assured that under our watchful eye, neither party shall be allowed to descend into pits of despair.

I am highly doubtful that Newt is operating under any thoughts or actions not directly his own. Skilled as some wizards may be, with so many people closely connected to him, I daresay we might have suspected something immediately had he fallen under the Imperius Curse. I am more inclined to believe that the hippogriff attack was a fluke rather than a flaw in my brother. Sophia and I have placed more emphasis on uncovering more information about Lucille’s motives than on trying to dissect the attack. Tina did relay some of the things Lucille told her, and based on these sparse clues, Sophia and I intend to begin research. You can trust that we will keep you fully updated on our progress.

Sophia was quite chuffed to have received recognition from your brother. Apparently, he is better even than Newt and myself, which I must say was rather disheartening to hear. However, you have been instructed not to relay that particular message, because she would hate for him to get a big head. How very considerate of her.

I sincerely hope you will soon feel better and less stressed, although that is incredibly, perhaps foolishly optimistic. Barring Grindelwald and Lucille’s convenient death and a spell to turn back time and undo all of their damage, I am afraid we are still in the thick of it. At any rate, do take care.

Sincerely,

Theseus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I had to play up the insecure Newt here for my own sadistic satisfaction :P to go into a character reflection, I think that his insecurity isn't weakness; it's more that like Tina, he's never quite fit in (I have a Tina/Queenie drabble in the works from when they were at Ilvermorny that will explore that a bit). He's not so stupid that he doesn't recognize what the norm is, so he ends up feeling a bit ashamed when he deviates from that. And he also realizes that he's been careless before (resulting in the scarring), and that Tina just yelled at him (and could have left him) for being so careless and doing things alone, and overall he's just uncomfy. 
> 
> Of course Tina just thinks he's super attractive and also feels sad realizing that he was alone for all of these battles — but he's not alone anymore!
> 
> Also I swear I was cringing FOR Newt when he threw up like bro that would be so embarrassing to do in front of someone you like even if they're super nice about it. I would die. 
> 
> Lastly, if you're into making fan art totally hit me up because Fen has been awesome and my other friend is maybe going to illustrate for me so I would love to have anyone join the party. I don't care if you're young or old or experienced or not, I just think it's great to engage readers' own creativity too! Whenever people illustrate for me (they used to illustrate my Johnlock fics) I add it with a link to their profile and the original post to the corresponding chapter.


	59. Intermission, Part VIII: Faceclaims. A lot of them.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things have been a little serious lately, so I thought I owed you all a breather ;)
> 
> Theseus got out of hand. I apologize. But so did a lot of them, once I realized I could use gifs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting this today (since I don't post intermissions alone), and I'll post a chapter with an important question tomorrow!
> 
> I am so sorry it started out as 3 per muse but then I found more Lucille FCs and I needed an even number and then I couldn't have 6 for Lucille and none for anyone else and it just snowballed
> 
> I've sent probably over 10 hours total now looking for FCs... oops. I may or may not be compiling a future Scamander family.
> 
> There are definitely more to come (my Snapchat convos with Fen have been very productive) but here's a sampling for now.

**Lucille — Jessica De Gouw**

This is perfect:

Reference pics:

Lucille doing her whole seductive thing:

Lucille is unimpressed:

Lucille in battle mode. Also, tfw you realize you messed up:

* * *

Frida — Amanda Norgaard

(Except Frida has a sturdier build she's like Olympic gymnast strong)

* * *

**Graham — Jamie Dornan**

Honestly Graham was such a sweetheart I needed happy photos of him. But also he was very attractive.

Graham talking to Tina:

* * *

**Elsie — Amanda Abbington**

Okay, I love Amanda. I think of Elsie as sort of an Amanda-Julie Walters' Molly hybrid. But I just love Amanda and her spirit matches up with how I see Elsie.

Elsie stressed and not amused:

Elsie amused:

Elsie talking:

Elsie adorable and cute:

* * *

[You can go here for Sopheus-specific faceclaims!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9453746/chapters/21459857)

**Theseus — Finn Jones**

General reference pics:

 

Theseus smiling calmly:

Theseus probably being cute and pure with Sophia:

Theseus talking in general:

Theseus being done like 90% of the time:

Theseus being really super not amused:

Badass war hero Theseus:

Poor bby Theseus:

Happy animated Theseus! When he actually gets excited about things (which isn't very much; he's mostly just like a calm lowkey kinda guy).

Here's a young Theseus (sorry I just thought he was cute) (and he looks kinda like Newt? Ish? Like the face shape and hair idk man I'm tired)

**YOU CAN GO[HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9673577/chapters/21850259) AND [HERE](https://www.instagram.com/fenchan/) TO SEE DRAWINGS OF SOPHIA AND THESEUS (AND AMAZING FAN ART IN GENERAL)!**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this was a nice way to sort of visualize some of this stuff in your head! Obviously no FC is perfect, but these fit pretty well (it took forever to track down the right ones omg). If you pictured them differently and aren't happy with my FCs, completely ignore them.


	60. I should care if the wind blows east or west

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sophia and Theseus go to the library, Lucille still can't seem to understand the complexities of murder, and Ignotus is still being a pain in the ass.
> 
> Chapter title from "April Showers" by B.G. DeSylva (1921)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to ask you guys questions so you can contribute a little to this fic! Read the end notes for more.

_Week 5, Tuesday_

The light and her own anxiety wake Sophia at six the next morning. Bounding out of bed, she gets dressed in a flash and heads for the door. Seeing as she's been spending more time here at the manor than at the guest house, she has become quite adept at navigating the maze-like interior; it only takes a minute to reach the main hall, where house-elves have already begun laying out breakfast.

“Thanks, Mopsey*,” she says to one of the elderly elves, digging in eagerly. Checkers, a house-elf delegated by Elsie to keep a watchful eye on the 20-year-old during meals, saunters over; his warning glare stops her as she’s reaching for the coffee pot.

“Eggs and bacon, if you please,” he says sternly. “And your favorite breakfast casserole, Miss.”

Mopsey stops by and slides a glass of orange juice over as a substitute. Sighing and making a mental note to ask Elsie if they could perhaps hunt down _decaf_ coffee, Sophia shovels the food into her mouth quickly, intending to go find Theseus and drag him out of bed by any means necessary.

Fortunately, he enters just as she’s decided to dive into a stack of pancakes, and offers a lazy, “Morning." He’s still in his house robe, which reaches the floor (no small feat, given that he’s over six feet tall) and is decorated in loud geometric print and tasseled silk cord ties. Underneath, he’s already gotten dressed in a wide-collared day shirt and striped linen plus-fours**.

The fact that both Theseus and Newt (Theseus in particular) wear completely unassuming, often working-class attire is one of the things Sophia admires most about the Scamander brothers. Even Elsie often dons attractive but primarily modest clothing. Then again, Elsie is practically perfect and the definition of "down to earth" (in Sophia's humble opinion), so that part isn't surprising.

Truth be told, after learning about the Scamanders' wealth, Sophia had initially been leery, worried that she would stick out like a sore thumb without being completely re-outfitted. It was a relief to discover that she _wasn’t_ going to be hanging around in sports clothes while her hosts wore very posh, expensive suits.

“Eat quickly,” she instructs Theseus now. This isn’t a problem for him; similar to Sophia, he’s eager to get a start on the day and has the energy of a growing boy. It's rather ironic that both petite four-foot-eleven Sophia and burly six-foot-one Theseus would have the largest and equal appetites of everyone on the island.

Once he’s done, he turns to her (she’s been pacing around anxiously, flipping through her journal every so often). “Let me put away my robe, get washed up, and we can leave,” he promises her. “And although it is not my place, might I suggest you run some sort of comb through your hair? You look as though a bird has constructed a nest on your head.”

Grumbling at the _hassle,_ Sophia obliges.

They meet in the hall about ten minutes later. “D’you know where we’re going?” she asks.

He looks at her with a mixture of exaggerated hurt and disdain. “I grew up here. When I offer to take you somewhere, I rather think I know where I am going. Berwick library,” he adds. “It's a Muggle establishment, but a fair number of wizards who may recognize me also frequent it.”

 _"So_ sorry for doubting you,” Sophia says sarcastically. Then, “Should we tell people where we’re going?”

He winks at her. “Ah, that may be wise. Given that Tina was just held hostage, Newt attacked, and the world is crumbling to pieces, I would expect a certain level of alarm should we go missing. Come along.”

They walk down to the guest house. “Newt is gonna be so mad,” Sophia groans as they enter and trudge up the stairs. “You wanna do it?”

“Is it not your duty as obnoxious younger sister to wake your ailing brother and his fiancée — sorry, _girlfriend_ _—_ at ungodly hours?”

“Yeah, but you’re the big brother, you get to do stuff like that. I had to tell him about Tina yesterday,” she says defensively. “Your turn.”

Sighing, he acquiesces and raps smartly on the door. A pause, followed by a sleepy, “Bugger off.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “Bit of a friendlier reception than I was anticipating,” he tells Sophia, then opens the door. As was expected, Newt and Tina are snuggled together like butter on toast under the covers. Tina is still asleep, but Newt has attempted a half-sitting position before wincing and swearing under his breath.

“Hey, big bro,” Sophia says sweetly. “We just wanted to tell ya that we’re going to the library. Burbank, or whatever.”

“Berwick,” Theseus corrects.

She waves a hand dismissively. “That. So don’t panic if we’ve scarpered whenever you two decide to get up." Theseus grins at her new, sometimes sarcastic but sometimes unconscious usage of British terms. _"If_ you decide to get up. I'm not sure you'd even notice if we disappeared, but anyhow, we're gonna be fine."

“Thank you for the warning,” Newt says with a definite hint of sarcasm. “Goodbye.”

“Love you,” Sophia puts in. He shuts his eyes. “Okay, well you said it back yesterday.”

“I was unconscious. Had no idea what I was saying,” he mumbles.

“I would hit you if you weren’t recovering from a near-death experience,” she informs him, leans over and kisses him on the cheek, and speeds out the door before he can hit _her._

“Well done,” Theseus says approvingly as they go downstairs.

“Oh,” Sophia realizes, “should we tell Mom?”

Theseus hesitates. “I would be loath to wake her, particularly since we do not yet know the outcome of last night’s meeting. I presume that the two lovebirds will relay the message.”

“Mmkay,” Sophia says agreeably. “Then let’s get a wiggle on.”

“Is that really how you speak in America?” Theseus asks keenly.

“Oh, pipe down.” She grabs Theseus’s massive arm, and with a crack, they’re gone.

* * *

“It worked,” Frida says immediately, striding into Lucille’s new headquarters.

“Excellent.”

“And you?”

“I fared _quite_ well,” Lucille replies smugly. Some of her internal storm seems to have quieted in the face of her success. “I’ve decided to let Tina come to the conclusion on her own.”

“Do you think she will be able to uncover it?”

“My doubts are high; however, given that you somehow discovered the story, it is not impossible should she — and, no doubt, her sidekicks — find the correct source.”

“How long will you wait?”

“As long as I can bear.”

“You are certain you will kill her?”

“Eventually.”

“In the meantime?”

“I will continue my investigation, report back to him, and perhaps follow in your footsteps." She nods at Frida's wand.

Frida frowns. “You cannot kill others for fun, Lucille. That is not the nature of murder. You must have intent and a dark hatred. The willingness to take another person’s life is not so simple to acquire, and I fear that you do not understand this.”

Lucille is somehow able to remain calm. “Then I will _find_ intent and dark hatred.”

“You think you can go as far as he, become as callous. Why are you still trying to impress him?”

“You know the story. You can answer that for yourself.”

Frida presses her lips together but says nothing.

“Thank you,” Lucille says coolly. “We will meet again soon, I presume.”

Frida looks at her evenly, and something in her gaze is so hard and intense and accusatory and pained all at once that Lucille feels the wind knocked out of her. She breaks the eye contact first. “Very well,” her assassin says, and disappears.

* * *

Theseus and Sophia touch down in an abandoned lot from which Berwick-upon-Tweed can be seen. A tall building stands out amidst the others, with a steeple on the top.

“There it is,” Theseus says. “Seven floors.”

“Wow,” Sophia says, falling into step beside him.

It isn’t too long of a walk, and as they cross over the town borders they’re subsumed by a crowd of people.

“It’s like New York here,” Sophia comments, struggling to stay next to Theseus.

“It is convenient in some ways, and not so in others,” Theseus remarks.

“Whaddya mean?”

“For those with malintent and attempting to covertly eavesdrop or otherwise, crowds can work in their favor,” he explains. “For those wishing to hide _from_ people with malintent, crowds can also work in their favor.”

“Mm. Well, at least we got nothing to hide,” Sophia says cheerfully. Then, “Didja know about Newt’s travel plans?”

“No,” he says in surprise.

“Yeah, he wants to go to Territory of New Guinea with Tina. He told her the other day, she cried ‘cause she thought he was leaving her behind...” Sophia rolls her eyes. “Anyways, I really wanna go, but I dunno if Mom and Dad — my real ones — will let me. Dad was all in a lather about me coming _this_ far, and I’m sure he’s gonna hear about all the stuff that went down soon enough.”

“Perhaps Mum, Newton, and myself might persuade them?” Theseus suggests.

“Maybe,” Sophia says skeptically.

“What does Newt plan to do there?”

“Lethifolds,” Sophia explains. “They’re related to dementors, they’re really creepy and difficult to defend against. They attack at night and you gotta create a corporeal Patronus to fight them off. Even then...” She shudders. “‘Course Newt wants to go after those, follow their behavior and such.”

“That sounds terribly dangerous and very typical of my brother.”

"Yup. Not a lot is known about ‘em because they’re really sneaky at night, and nobody knows where they hide out during the day. Newt wants to figure out what they do until nightfall, where they hide, things like that. They might be dormant during the day — light, y’know, not a dementor’s favorite thing — but they could also be up to no good, just not attacking people.”

“What does his ever-protective yet equally reckless girlfriend think of this proposal?” Theseus trips on a sidewalk crack, causing a bit of a domino effect as several people stumble as well.

Sophia laughs at the chaos Theseus caused, then sobers. “I dunno what Tina thinks of it; this whole Lucille and Fairclaw thing happened so I don’t think she’s gotten to process that much. She’ll need to have something to work on, too, and there’s an ongoing Lucille investigation, although with Grindelwald attacks Tina’s really the only Auror who can focus on the case. _She_ was just pleased that Newt would ask her to come along. As though there was any doubt,” she scoffs as they approach the library’s large double doors.

“Well, perhaps Lucille will show up in Territory of New Guinea,” Theseus jokes.

“No, honestly, I wouldn’t put it past her,” Sophia replies snarkily. A librarian shoots her a death glare. “Sorry,” she whispers. They step to the side, surrounded by rows and rows of bookshelves. Sophia puts her hands on her hips. “So, where to now?”

Theseus nods at the stairwell. “Follow me.”

* * *

Elsie wakes up around eleven — uncharacteristically late for her — and grimaces as she replays the events of last night. The council still hasn't made a decision; Ignotus has been trying to sway David, but David actually has a _heart_ and is vying for them to take Tina and Newt into consideration. It’s one thing to close the island going forth, he argues, but the two are still recovering and it would be unkind to evict them now. On top of that, they may not be safe beyond the island.

“What about _our_ safety, then?” Ignotus had said angrily. “What if they’re not safe anywhere, and we face an attack? What do we do about that?”

Elsie suggested that they put up more protective spells, and evacuate all visitors and any residents wishing to do so. There are safe houses around eastern and central Europe, and some in America as well. The handful of Auror and war veterans who wish to stay but want to protect their children could easily send them elsewhere until things have calmed down. _If_ they calm down. Which they have to, eventually.

In the end, Ignotus stormed out, David went home to an irascible and distraught Poppy, and Elsie buried her head in her hands and sat at the table for a long time. By the time she calmed down, it was nearly 1 am, and so she dragged herself down the boardwalk and into the cool stone interior of the manor. It isn’t very welcoming, particularly at night, she noted vaguely. Perhaps they should try to amend that sometime, when people aren’t dying every which way.

Now, as she squints against the daylight, she wishes she could say she feels marginally better. Realizing that she will have to speak with Tina and Newt about this — much as she still wants to protect her son and (essentially) daughter-in-law, it isn’t right to keep them in the dark — she groans and suppresses the urge to flop back into bed. But no, she is the island’s fearless leader. She has fought battles before; she can do so again.

After a quick breakfast, she gets herself together and heads to the guest house, determined to make today productive and positive. Even though Newt has been an adult for over a decade, she can’t help but feel like a young mother trying not to let her little boy see her cry. He’s still every bit as dependent on her and now Tina, and so _sensitive_ to the world’s happenings, just as he was then. Thus, Elsie still puts on a brave face, and walks into the guest house.

* * *

 ***Note:** Mopsey was the name of one of George Washington’s many dogs. Checkers belonged to Richard Nixon. Of course that’s where I looked for inspiration for house-elf names.

 ****Note:** plus-fours are knickers which hung four inches below the knee. When the prince of Wales went on tour in America wearing plus-fours, they became all the rage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is more informal than I had originally planned (I have a full instruction post typed up), but basically here's the deal: the squad is going to be on an ocean liner for 6 days and obviously I'm not going to detail every single day, so it'll just be a nice interim before shit hits the fan in Territory of New Guinea. Therefore, I'm going to afford any readers the opportunity to be featured as themselves or their OCs at some point! 
> 
> If you're interested, just leave a comment so I can gauge interest in doing that. If y'all are into the idea, I'll post more info. I've done this in the past (in my FF.net days oh the nostalgia) and it was a great time!


	61. No one else will do, honey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tina changes Newt's bandage in front of Elsie, and Theseus fumblingly reassures an insecure Sophia.
> 
> +
> 
> “I’m not gonna leave Newt thrashing around in pain,” Tina states, as though Elsie is stupid.
> 
> “I wasn’t thrashing,” he mutters. Then he admits, “It was... considerably worse the second time round, when I was conscious.”
> 
> “That was hours ago,” it occurs to Elsie. “We’d better — Tina, dear, do you remember where everything is?”
> 
> Tina nods, about to jump up, when Newt’s hand closes around her wrist. “I’d rather Tina do it,” he tells Elsie apologetically.
> 
> +
> 
> "No, you're very pretty."
> 
> "Sure," Sophia says begrudgingly.
> 
> "You are," Theseus insists. "Er... you have a nice — a nice smile."
> 
> "Really?"
> 
> "Absolutely. It's..." Don't do it. Don't say it. Please for the love of all that is good don't say it. "Beautiful," he finishes.
> 
> +
> 
> Chapter title from “Honey” by Rudy Vallee (1929)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I should post this before the weekend is over :)
> 
> And again, please leave a comment on last chapter if you'd be into the idea of being able to have you/your OCs featured!
> 
> I added more gratuitous Sopheus fluff because someone suggested/requested it, and I haven't updated in a few days. No matter how hard I've tried to make you guys and myself not ship it, I've just given up. So this is a bit of a bonus chapter.

Newt is lying on the couch when Elsie quietly opens the door to the guest house. Tina is crouched next to his head, stroking his hair and talking softly. Elsie feels a surge of such fondness, a transitory moment of _everything will be okay,_ before taking a deep breath and announcing her presence.

“How do you feel, darling?” she asks, going over to her son.

“Terrible,” he croaks. “Better than yesterday, though.”

 _Merlin’s pants._ She was so wrapped up in last night’s meeting that she forgot to change his dressing. Sophia and Theseus had snuck out for a quiet dinner on the beach, and Tina must be exhausted. “Oh, dear,” she frets, hands fluttering over his shirt. “I’m so sorry, Newtie, let’s get you fixed up —”

“It’s alright,” Tina reassures her. “I changed it last night.”

That _darling_ girl. “You did?”

She nods. “It was pretty gruesome. I used murtlap and dittany and that healing potion.”

“Oh, Tina,” Elsie cries, and throws her arms around the woman. It’s possible that she’s a _tad_ emotional given recent events.

“It — it really wasn’t that much of a hassle,” Tina says, taken aback.

Elsie pulls away and pats the Auror’s cheek fondly. “It’s just lovely to see someone else taking care of my boy,” she sighs.

“I’m not gonna leave Newt thrashing around in pain,” Tina states, as though Elsie is stupid.

“I wasn’t thrashing,” he mutters indignantly. Then he admits, “It was... considerably worse the second time round, when I was conscious.”

“That was hours ago,” it occurs to Elsie. She rolls up her sleeves. “We’d better — Tina, dear, do you remember where everything is?”

Tina nods, about to jump up, when Newt’s hand closes around her wrist. “I’d rather Tina do it,” he tells Elsie apologetically.

“Newt, it’s your mom,” Tina protests, but Elsie stops her.

“No, it isn’t a problem. I’ll be back in a jiffy.” She stands up, and Tina immediately shuffles over to occupy the empty space, closer to Newt.

Elsie returns a few minutes later carrying the three potions and an ointment. “I forgot this,” she informs the two ruefully. “It was not important at the time, when we needed to staunch the bleeding and heal the skin, but this should help the discomfort.” Then she places everything, as well as a roll of gauze, next to the Auror.

Tina hesitates. It doesn’t take a genius to realize that her trepidation is at partially undressing Newt in front of his mother. “Go on, dear,” Elsie says encouragingly, squeezing her shoulder. “I certainly won’t be scandalized. I did put you two in the same bed, after all.”

Newt reaches up and tucks a lock of Tina’s hair behind her ear tenderly. Those _fools,_ Elsie thinks, are so in love. Tina seems to steady herself, then begins slowly unbuttoning his shirt, carefully opening it up once she gets to the bottom. Elsie can’t help but feel a pang every time she sees her son’s scars. He’s always had a high pain tolerance, but each one has come at a cost, and most of the time she’s been powerless to prevent them.

At Tina’s expectant look, Elsie scurries over behind Newt’s head so she can lift his shoulders and Tina can begin peeling off the bandage, which has grown a bit crusty and stuck to his skin. Newt looks up at his girlfriend somewhat hopefully as she reaches the last layer, but she glances at Elsie and shakes her head. Instead, he reaches over and grabs onto her shirt, in a gesture that’s so childish Elsie almost tears up.

When her boys were younger, Theseus would happily hold hands with his mum, but he never held on as steadfastly as his younger brother. Newtie would crawl into bed when Elsie had reached her limit, grab onto her nightgown just like that, and fall asleep. It may seem odd, she realizes, to be likening her own maternal relationship with her son to his romantic one with Tina, but it isn't about the type of relationship. It's about how Newt acts when he needs someone, loves someone, is _vulnerable_ with someone. And up until now, Elsie has been the only person he’s treated this way.

He hisses in pain when Tina yanks off the remaining strip of cloth. Elsie cringes.

“That’s not as bad as it was yesterday,” Tina reassures both of them. She looks down at Newt, absentmindedly stroking his forehead with her thumb. “You okay?”

He nods weakly and lets go of her shirt. “It has regressed from excruciating to agonizing,” he says lightly.

Tina laughs. “I’m not sure that’s much better.”

The wound itself has made a vast improvement. It’s still pink and tender, but the skin has closed over nicely. It _is_ odd that the laceration took so long to heal. Fairclaw must have been incredibly upset.

“Should I still...?” Tina hesitates, motioning to the potions.

Elsie nods. “It will help, should the skin break again.”

“Do you think it will?” Tina asks in alarm.

“As long as he is not overly active, he will be fine.”

Tina deftly pours a few drops of each potion onto the gash. His skin shimmers and goes back to normal. “What’s this again?” she asks, holding up the tube.

“Soothing ointment. It’s a simple formula, but it will help moisturize and cool the area.”

“This might hurt,” Tina warns Newt as she squeezes a bit of the paste onto her finger. He braces himself and flinches when she first touches him, but relaxes as soon as it’s spread thinly across his chest. “Better?” Tina asks.

He nods. “Thank you.”

“Thank _you,”_ she says to Elsie.

“Of course.” She really is sweet, that young woman. Just a little bit lacking in confidence, still slightly nervous around Newt and The Mom, but so genuine, clearly intelligent, and more capable than meets the eye. Newt had mentioned her having a little sister once, and Elsie wonders now about that relationship. Tina possesses a maternal instinct that doesn’t come naturally in many people; perhaps she, like Elsie, raised her own sister at some point.

Newton, for his part, ought to be fully recovered physically in the next 48 to 72 hours, but mental and emotional recovery are another story. If Elsie knows anything about her son, it’s that his brain works differently, slower in some ways and faster in others, than the rest of the world. For everyone’s sake, she prays that when it comes to his current recovery, it will be the latter.

“Oh,” Tina speaks up, remembering something, “Soph and Theseus have gone to the library. I think they’ve taken it upon themselves to research this Mordechai thing. That’s what Lucille said,” she adds at Elsie’s confusion, “when I asked why she wanted to kill me.”

“Mordechai?” Elsie repeats. Tina nods. Something nags at the back of her mind. It’s familiar, but why? “Is that a name?”

“We don’t know,” Tina replies helplessly.

“I believe it is a name. I would have to check the island records, but I am relatively certain that there was a Mordechai who lived here once, in the 1400s.”

“D’you think it could have to do with Scamander Island?” Tina asks nervously.

“It may not be the same man. But if we know that it is a name, that might aid in the investigation process.”

“Yeah.” Tina glances down at Newt, whose eyelids are fluttering shut. Then she asks Elsie, “What did you do last night?”

Elsie falters. She really doesn’t want to do this. “I am afraid,” she sighs, “that I must discuss this with you. I would wait for Newt to recover, but we seem to be suffering a perpetual shortage of time and in a worst case scenario, this may soon affect us all.”

She sees Tina reach for Newt’s hand. “Okay.”

“Ignotus has expressed the same concerns as he did at dinner, except I fear that with recent events, his claims are much more compelling to frightened islanders. The fact that you have already brushed up against dark magic, so to speak, and returned to this island... although I do not remotely agree with his stance, objectively it would make sense as a concern.

“The hippogriff attack is an entirely different situation which has been slightly less worrisome; however, it certainly does not work in our favor should we attempt to spread the conviction that everyone is perfectly safe here. And it is true that our protection spell has never faced such potential darkness as Grindelwald. Oh, dear,” she says, seeing Tina’s stricken expression, “I _promise_ Theseus and I would never send the two of you into danger.”

“Yeah, but pretty much everywhere is danger now,” Tina says miserably. “I don’t want to jeopardize your home.”

“I know, but neither of you are in a position to leave unless we have a plan.”

“Well...” Tina hesitates. “Newt” — he stirs at the sound of his name, grips Tina’s hand a little tighter, and drifts off again — “mentioned wanting to travel. We haven’t gotten a chance to talk about it, and if he’s still like this tonight you might be better off asking Sophie.”

This is news to Elsie. “Where does he want to travel?”

“Territory of New Guinea.” Tina frowns. “I actually don’t know why.”

“Lethifolds,” Newt mumbles.

“What?” Elsie and Tina ask simultaneously.

“Dementors.”

“What? You’re chasing after dementors?” Tina says in alarm.

“No, no,” he murmurs, and then his head lolls.

“I guess that’ll have to wait,” she sighs, looking back at Elsie. “Anyway... Theseus and Sophia might find something, but right now I think we’re all a bit lost.”

“You can say that again,” Elsie concurs. “I am afraid I must grin and bear yet another council meeting, this time at the manor. Have you any plans today?”

Tina shakes her head. “No. When the others get back I was hoping we might try to do something relaxing. I don’t know if Newt would want me to stay with him.” She smiles. “I’m pretty sure he’s going to get sick of me soon.”

“Never,” Newt says in barely a whisper, and drags Tina’s hand to rest over his heart.

“Either way.” Elsie hesitates. “If I may, I thought I might look around the manor’s libraries and send somebody back with a few books for you to peruse while you stay with my son, whom I am fairly certain only pretends to sleep so he can listen to us talk about him.”

“No,” Newt insists.

“Yeah,” Tina says, nodding. “That would be great.”

“Expect them in no more than an hour, then,” Elsie says as she gets to her feet. Tina stands as well. “You are being very brave, sweetheart,” Elsie reassures her.

“Thank you,” Tina says gratefully. The fleeting emotion on her face is carefully suppressed, but it's more than evident that growing up without a mother hasn't been easy.

It breaks Elsie's heart to realize that this beautiful young woman probably hasn't been called "sweetheart" in decades. For all the suffering in the world, at least Elsie can sleep easy knowing that she has loved her sons from their first breath, and that they know now without a doubt that she will love them until her last. Tina was robbed of that fundamental motherly love from an unfairly young age.

Elsie almost wants to say, _Call me Mum,_ but refrains. If her son doesn’t put a ring on that young woman’s finger... god knows that times are increasingly desperate and given the integrity of their relationship (and the urgency of seemingly everything), she’s half prepared to propose to Tina _for_ him. But alas, duty calls, and so she hurries out of the guest house, leaving a thoughtful Tina and half-conscious Newt behind her.

* * *

Theseus and Sophia spend a solid three hours poring through the library, to no avail.

“You don’t think he could be related to Tina or something, do you?” she asks Theseus.

“It is a possibility… we can ask Tina when we get home, but I would think that she would recall the name if he was a relation. If we could obtain a copy of her family tree, it would go back several generations.”

“Then we can send Queenie an owl and ask for it,” Sophia proposes confidently.

“That may be wise,” he concurs, then slams a book shut in frustration and gets to his feet, offering a hand. She, of course, rejects the help and hops up as well. “I am afraid I have rather reached my limit.”

Sophia groans. “This is the worst,” she complains. “We didn’t find anything.”

He shrugs and gestures for her to follow him down the stairs. “There is hope yet.”

She looks at him dubiously, but doesn’t argue, and together they exit the library. _There_ is _hope,_ she tells herself firmly. _We_ will _figure this out._ And, in due course, they do.

* * *

Tina is still reeling a little from the whole taking-off-Newt’s-shirt thing. If she was having trouble holding herself together when he was fully clothed, she’s barely functioning now. The fact that he could be ashamed is absurd and so painfully _like_ him. She’d let it slip, that she thought it was beautiful, and is determined not to mention it again. Now is a terrible time to get into that discussion or even consider doing anything remotely risqué, not least because there are a _number_ of variables to be taken into account...

This is a very _very_ bad train of thought to be going down.

She’s extraordinarily grateful for the arrival of a house-elf, who’s carrying a stack of books. “For you, Miss,” he says, depositing them on the floor.

“Thank you, sir,” she replies.

He gives a little bow and Disapparates.

Tina starts going through the books. _Scamander Island: A Brief History._ (This tome has about 900 pages, so “brief” is a bit of an understatement.) _The Hidden Gems of Great Britain. A History of Names. Berwick-upon-Tweed Traveler’s Guide. Ancestry._

Since Elsie had connected “Mordechai” to a name from Scamander Island’s history, Tina goes for the name book first. She flips to the index and runs a finger down the “M” section. Her heart leaps when she finds it in tiny black letters, but when she goes to the page, all that’s written is “Hebrew.” Of course, every _other_ entry seems to have a lengthy history and description attached to it. However, it would seem that Mordechai is definitely a name, so perhaps it was marginally helpful. Could the fact that it's Hebrew, and her family has Jewish roots, be significant? She tucks that note away for later.

Just to make sure, she begins scouring the “hidden gems” one, which lists all the nooks and crannies and unknown areas of Great Britain. There’s nothing about Mordechai. A check of the traveler’s guide also comes up empty. Almost _definitely_ a name.

Newt stirs on the couch and she glances over from where she’d moved to the kitchen table. He throws an arm over his eyes as light beams through the windows, then appears to jolt and look around wildly.

“Hey,” Tina says. “I’m over here.”

He seems to slump in relief. “Did you need to move?”

She shrugs. “Sorry. The floor is pretty hard.”

“There’s a couch,” he points out.

“Yes, but it’s being occupied by a reckless magizoologist.”

“There’s room,” he insists, holding out a hand.

Sighing, she shuts the book and comes over to the sofa, where he’s able to lift himself into a semi-sitting position (without wincing) so she can sit down with his head in her lap again. “How do you feel?” she asks.

“Every breath is no longer agony,” he replies.

She smiles. “That’s good.”

“I rather enjoyed the method you used last night,” he says.

“Well, your mom was right there, I wasn’t going to do anything in front of _her.”_

“She isn’t here _now,”_ he points out wisely.

“You’re still recovering,” she reminds him.

“And you’re being very cruel to a helpless patient such as myself.”

“Oh, _so_ sorry,” Tina replies overdramatically. “How can I ever make it up to you?”

“I have an idea or two,” he says, grinning mischievously. Even his smile has gotten broader and more relaxed in their time together. He’d said that he thought he’d changed a little when they said goodbye last year; if only either of them had known what was yet to come. Their relationship had a somewhat nightmarish start, but Tina would go through every excruciating moment again if she knew it would have such a wonderful end result. They have a ways to go, of course; still, everything that's happened — and continuing to spend probably far too much time together — has only strengthened their bond.

“You do, Mr. Scamander?” she responds, smiling down at him.

“Indeed.”

“You're still recovering, I don't want to make it worse —”

He scoffs. “I think I’ll survive. After all, if I injure myself again, you can employ the same foolproof method as you did last night.”

Tina shakes her head as he reaches up his hand to brush against her chin. And then, because she really cannot say no to this ridiculous man, she concedes.

She is met with excellent success.

* * *

“They think that Mordechai is a relative,” Frida informs Lucille, who raises an eyebrow dispassionately. “The assistant suggested that they find a family tree.”

“It is a fool’s errand,” Lucille says coolly. “There will be no answers there.” She hesitates. “Frida…”

The assassin looks up. “You want to know my source.”

Lucille nods. “You would not have heard from him.”

“No. You know as well as I do that he and I have spoken once. I still cannot say. I... have a promise to uphold. But I understand, and I am here to help you.”

Frida had better not mention _feelings_ again, Lucille thinks angrily. She has worked hard her entire life — ever since the incident — to close off her emotions. Growing up, of course, it was difficult, given that she was surrounded by other people. But by the time she turned 17, she was well on her way. Moments of vulnerability are now strictly limited to the safety of her solitude.

Despite the fact that she has no definite plan yet, she’s satisfied with yesterday’s events and outcome. She got to put on a show, to dangle herself before the most esteemed Aurors in the wizarding community, to _shock_ Tina, and to get away safely once more. There was a decent chance, she knew, that their idiot Minister for Magic would send Aurors, although she had trusted Ragnar to clear the area of any contacts. Even so.

“They plan to travel,” Frida adds.

Lucille spins around. _Interesting._ “Where?”

“Territory of New Guinea. He wishes to research lethifolds.”

 _Lethifolds._ She’s heard of them. “Book me passage,” she decides.

“I don’t know when they plan to leave.”

“Find out,” Lucille says, waving a hand dismissively.

Unfortunately, Frida does.

* * *

Sophia and Theseus get lunch at a wizarding diner after their unsuccessful venture to the library. Despite the lack of success in their investigatory efforts, he's found himself to be in a very good mood. The sun is shining; nobody has been threatened, held hostage, or attacked today; and he's with his new partner-in-crime, who's currently skipping and chattering away next to him as they walk to the restaurant.

That's another thing. Theseus, like his mother, gets along with most people, but he and Sophia have rapidly developed a certain camaraderie that he hasn't really felt with anyone in a long time, if ever. Perhaps she's just the sort of person who can bond with anyone, though; she certainly slipped seamlessly into his brother's life. Either way, he's fairly certain that were it not for that firecracker of a 20-year-old, he would have gone mad within a few days on the island.

They reach their destination in a few minutes, where he tries to open the door for her and, as usual, is rebuffed. The fact that Sophia's evidently got something against chivalry is frustrating and endearing in equal measure. She does, however, allow him to pull out her chair before she sits, but he has a sneaking suspicion that's only because it would be too much trouble to push it back in and do it herself. Plus, she's starting to get hungry, which creates an even more disastrous situation than her consuming caffeine.

A man walks by their table as they're looking at menus; Theseus glances up briefly, then does a double take. "Carl?" he says incredulously. Carlos Belby was one of his good friends at Hogwarts: they had always shared a room and spent a fair number of evenings in detention together. 

"Theseus!" the young man cries, and pumps Theseus's hand enthusiastically. "How _are_ you?"

"Fine, fine — well, the state of the world right now isn't exactly fine, but what can one do. I heard you got married?"

"Yes!" Carl says in loud excitement; he always was energetic, and at age 20 might've given Sophia a run for her money. "Persephone Gage. She was a year behind us, in Gryffindor."

"Congratulations, mate!" Theseus says.  _Mate?_ Sophia mouths at him, eyebrow raised in amusement. He shrugs.

"I heard about D —" Carl begins more somberly, but Theseus shakes his head vehemently and looks pointedly at Sophia. Carl is the only one who knows, and even he doesn't have the entire story. "Oh. I'm sorry."

"Don't worry," Theseus reassures him. He is, however, half afraid that Sophia will at some point piece it together in two seconds flat. 

"And who's your date?" Carl asks presently. "Isn't she a bit young for you?" He grins. 

"I'm not his date, and I'm 20," Sophia huffs. She holds out a hand courteously, though.

"So sorry," Carl apologizes. "You are...?"

"Sophia Ollerton. I'm Newt's assistant."

"Newtie!" Carl exclaims in delight. Sophia is positively thrilled to hear Carl call him by his pet name. "How is he?"

"Fine," Sophia replies before Theseus can open his mouth. "He's gotten a girlfriend."

"I thought I heard something about that! He's a great bloke, always thought he'd find _someone_ once he went out on his own... but I have to admit, I was a little skeptical."

"Yeah, I think we all were," Sophia says smartly.

"You were _there_ when it happened," Theseus reminds her. She shushes him.

"It's the Auror, right?" Carl asks.

Sophia nods. "Porpentina Esther Goldstein." Theseus kicks her under the table. "Sorry, _Tina._ It's a lovely name," she informs Theseus. "I always thought 'Theseus' was kinda weird... pretty pretentious, honestly." He tries to kick her again, but misses and stubs his toe against the table leg instead.

Carl nods. Awkwardness descends.

"Well!" Sophia finally says loudly, and Theseus can very clearly read the look she's shooting at him. Ever since she came along, he's been letting _her_ get them out of uncomfortable situations — a role he had assumed for 34 years, so it's only fair to pass the torch. He leans back smugly. "It was nice meeting you," she says with a slightly fake smile. "I guess we'll see you around sometime. Maybe. Probably not."

Theseus shakes his head; she makes a face at him. "Good to see you," he tells Carl firmly, and claps him on the back.

"Why would he assume I'm your _date?"_ Sophia asks indignantly when he walks away.

 _Well, we're not_ bad _together._ "I haven't the faintest. People make assumptions," he replies mildly.

Sophia wrinkles up her nose. "I don't _go_ on dates."

This is news. "I see," he says, not sure how he feels about this.

"I mean," she sighs, "Nelson asked me out, but..." She gestures vaguely. "I'm kind of in the middle of a situation here."

"Ah."

She scrutinizes him. "Why are you being weird?"

He shrugs. "I can't say as I am the best person to be discussing men with."

"Oh." She apparently doesn't understand English, because she continues, "I guess I never saw myself as the dating _type,_ you know?"

"You could be," he says idly, flipping through the menu.

"What d'you mean?"

"Mm?" Is there a house-elf somewhere?

"That I could be the dating type."

Oh, god. Did he _actually_ just dig himself into that hole? "Just that you could date, if you wanted to." He clears his throat. "That — erm — I am sure many men would want to take you on dates. If you were amenable."

She appears completely bemused. He doesn't blame her. "I can't tell if you're complimenting me or asking me out... or trying to make me feel better about myself."

Is asking her out a genuine option? Because if so... but no, she's just being sarcastic. "Complimenting you," is probably the safest bet. Then, because he's clearly got a touch of whatever Newt suffered from for the first few weeks of his relationship with Tina, Theseus _has_ to keep blabbering. "Why would you need to feel better about yourself?"

Sophia shrugs. She seems uncomfortable. Or — could it be — insecure? Sophia's  _never_ insecure. "I dunno," she mutters at the table. "It's fine."

Theseus puts down the menu in alarm and represses the urge to reach for her hand or do anything equally stupid. "Well. You have nothing to feel bad about."

Sophia recovers quickly, and flashes a smile at him. "What, do you think I'm _pretty?"_ she asks teasingly.

How on earth is he supposed to respond? "Quite," he replies.

She frowns. "For real?"

Good lord. Does she really not think she's attractive? This is very dangerous territory. Very. He tries to hide behind his menu again.

"Oh," Sophia says softly, and he realizes too late how he must have come across. _Who_ exactly thought that this entire talking thing was a good idea?

"No, no," he backpedals hurriedly. She's staring down at the tablecloth. "No, I... you're very pretty."

"Sure," she says begrudgingly.

This is all _extremely_ unfortunate. "You are," he insists. "Er... you have a nice — a nice smile." Maybe if he screams loud enough internally, Mum or Newt or anyone in the whole world will come save him from himself.

"Really?"

"Absolutely. It's..." _Don't do it. Don't say it. Please for the love of all that is good don't say it._ "Beautiful," he finishes.

Sophia's face lights up. "That's so nice!" she exclaims.

Well, that went over slightly better than he might have anticipated. "You're welcome," he responds, then gestures to her menu. "So... what do you want?"

"Hmm." Sophia considers. "I kind of want food."

"Then I would say we're in the right place," Theseus says laughingly. She flashes him a warm smile at that — and it is indeed very beautiful.

* * *

**A/N:**

It's been pointed out that Tina would know about Mordechai being a name if she's Jewish, and that she's not eating kosher. To which I say:

  1. I'm obviously not Jewish hahaha
  2. I'm actually not sure how religious she and Queenie might be, given, for one, that they're not No-Majs. You don't see any religion in HP other than celebrating holidays (no going to church or eating kosher or praying or saying grace, etc.) and just because one is a certain religion doesn't necessarily mean they're devout and will stick to all the rules/traditions. There may also be differences in religion, I might think, as wizards have a slightly alternate record of events, as well as different children's tales, so I don't feel like I'm leaving out something super significant.
  3. Also there's the fact that they were raised as orphans — nobody raised them in their faith, including the cousin they stayed with later, and Tina was only 6 when their parents died so she's have been a bit young to try to implement any traditions with Queenie. I daresay the two had a lot of other things on their mind.  

  4. I'm afraid there are some parts of my fic where you have to suspend your disbelief :P remember this is for entertainment value and I'm not sending this to a publisher so if there are small plot holes or minor inconsistencies, I think we can all survive ;)



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's the deal. I come up with a ton of terms on my own (think Babington and Puddingstone and wizarding candies, etc.). However, I need a name for Grindelwald's followers — like the equivalent of Death Eaters/Snatchers/etc. — and I really haven't been able to come up with one. Please leave some suggestions in the comments if you have any ideas! 
> 
> If I choose yours you'll get creds and the option to be featured in the fic if you'd like that. 
> 
> You can follow me on Tumblr if you like a lot of personal bloggy rambly posts and political/activist posts and studyblr posts (I'm technically a studyblr but as anyone who's already following me can attest, I'm much more than that). My URL is @academla.
> 
> I hope you like Elsie and her reflections on Newt. I know they can be lengthy, but I think it's important to have an outsider's view and to better understand his backstory.
> 
> Thanks for your support and I apologize for the lengthy notes!


	62. If you don't believe I'm sinkin' look what a hole I'm in

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which three Aurors die, Newt finally gives Ignotus the what-for, Sophia misses Queenie, and Ewan comes to the rescue as usual.
> 
> “We must think of the majority,” Ignotus says snottily. “Of course it would be slightly regrettable for another Auror to be killed, but —”
> 
> Theseus has to physically restrain his brother from going after the councilman. “Not worth it,” he says firmly, grabbing Newt by the arm. Newt wrestles his way out of Theseus’s iron grip and stands there, straightening his shirt and panting.
> 
> “Slightly. Regrettable,” Newt says through gritted teeth. “And what would you care if your wife died? If your children died? Would that be slightly regrettable too?”
> 
> Chapter title from “Stealin’ Stealin’” by Memphis Jug Band (1928)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the angst, but it's a good, necessary, character-evolving type of angst. Because first of all, I kind of want a Newt to be all badass and defend my honor, and second of all, I'm just sadistic and like to make all my characters (and readers) suffer. So sorry.
> 
> Slightly lengthy character analysis in the end notes. Read if you want to, but nothing else very important is there.
> 
> If you ever have questions about my muses please do ask! I mean, I could talk about them for hours, and at this point even the canon characters are sort of my own rendition of them, so it's good to "get to know" them if that makes sense. Maybe I'm just a deranged writer ;)

_Week 5, Wednesday_

An owl from Queenie arrives Wednesday afternoon. At Tina’s request, she’s sent them what’s recorded of their family tree, starting in the 1600s. “Mordechai” is nowhere to be found.

“So _that’s_ a dead end,” Sophia sighs.

Newt has one last dressing change as a precaution, but otherwise he’s able to mostly move around. He’s eager to go into Wyverthwaite for lunch; however, Tina and Elsie protest, not wanting him to overexert himself. He relents, muttering something about having _two_ mothers, and they agree to have dinner at the manor, preferably sans council.

Council meetings continue to be discouragingly unproductive. Ignotus is becoming belligerent and restless; Elsie worries that David will cave soon. As of now, there are no final decisions as to Tina and Newt’s presence, although her hope is that closing Wyverthwaite to visitors may temporarily pacify some of the islanders, who have become fearful and leaning towards Ignotus’s mindset.

Dinner is cut short by the arrival of another owl. The letter is addressed to Theseus, who opens it immediately and turns pale.

“What happened?” Tina asks, heart pounding.

“Three Aurors were found dead this morning,” he says hoarsely. “Demetrius Oberdeck, Pollux Goodell, and Owen Pendergrass.”

“Those are the Aurors Graham mentioned,” Newt realizes, looking at Tina. She nods, biting her lip.

“Demetrius just had a baby girl,” she whispers. “He was so happy…”

“Do they know who killed them?” Sophia asks in a hushed voice.

“Grindelwald supporters,” Theseus answers bitterly. “They burned their slogan on the bodies. ‘For the greater good.’”

Newt reaches out and grips Tina’s hand, sniffling a little as he holds back his own tears. “I’m so sorry, Tina,” he says quietly. “Were you close?”

She shrugs miserably. “We were all close. We worked together, we…” She shakes her head, unable to wrap her mind around this. Until now, the attacks seemed so impersonal. They were mostly mass murder, individuals getting drowned out in the crowd so that she almost forgot about each victim having a family and a job and a history. Now, it slaps her in the face. “What were they doing?”

“Nothing,” Theseus replies heavily. “They were performing routine checks where they were stationed in Alabama. No witnesses, either.”

Elsie puts her head in her hands. “I fear the worst is not yet over,” she confesses.

“What does Madam Picquery think?” Tina asks. “Did she say?”

“What is there to say?” Theseus points out wearily. “Three good men have died. There are surely more to come. Grindelwald is a clever man with trained assassins working for him.”

“They don’t think Lucille was involved, do they?” Sophia asks fearfully.

“There was no mention of her. It is still unclear as to how connected she is with Grindelwald.”

They sit in silence then, mourning, nobody sure what to say. Newt slides over in his chair to put his arm around Tina; after a beat, he gestures for Sophia to join the hug. On the table, their dinner grows cold as night falls and warmth is stolen from the air.

* * *

_Week 5, Thursday_

Everyone is just a little bit quieter the next day. Newt holds Tina a little bit tighter, Elsie spends time with her sons a little bit longer. Even the village has shut down, having heard the news.

And then, of course, Ignotus Pembroke breaks the silence.

He strides angrily into the guest house while Newt and Theseus are playing a half-hearted game of wizard’s chess, Tina is helping Elsie clean up, and Sophia is lying upside down off the couch idly thumbing through _Fantastic Beasts._ “A word,” Ignotus says tightly, jaw twitching.

Theseus opens his mouth, but his mother quells him with a look. “Perhaps another time, Ignotus,” Elsie says firmly.

“We don’t have _time_ for another time,” he blusters. “Three Aurors dead. They’re targeting _Aurors.”_ He jabs a finger in Tina’s direction; Sophia leaps up and stands protectively in front of her, which isn’t very effective given the height difference. It’s the thought that counts.

“They are targeting anybody they can get their hands on,” Elsie says sharply. “Particularly those who have worked to defeat them — which includes plenty of civilians as well.”

“Well, we already know that someone’s out to get her,” he continues angrily, “she’s been cursed and held hostage, so I don’t know what everyone is sitting around _waiting_ for!”

“We are waiting for you to join our efforts to make calm, rational decisions, Ignotus,” Elsie says icily, clearly reaching her limit when it comes to dealing with irascible council members. “If you would like to include David in this conversation —”

“Conversation? This isn’t a _bloody_ conversation, Elsbeth!” _Yikes,_ Theseus mouths at Sophia. “This is an obvious decision! _She_ has to go, and she can take your son” — he points at Newt, who’s also moved in front of his girlfriend and is beginning to glower at the man — “with her, he’s got a case full of beasts anyway, as though _that_ won’t be a hazard, particularly when he’s gone and gotten himself attacked —”

“Enough, Ignotus!” Elsie says loudly, suddenly looking quite fearsome. “We can discuss this at the manor if we must, but the truth of the matter is that three loved, respected, and courageous men have been killed. We cannot make rash decisions.”

“I hate to break it to you, but this ain’t rash, Elsie!” he yells. “This is for the safety of _our_ people, not some random _girl_ who’s already —”

“SHUT UP!” Newt roars. Everyone freezes in shock; the outburst is so out of character it doesn’t even seem possible that it came from him. He’s angrier than Tina’s ever seen, and judging by the look on Elsie and Theseus’s face, the same holds true for them. “If you want us gone, then very well, we will leave. But do _not_ begin to disparage my w — girlfriend. She has done nothing wrong in all of this except attempt to find answers to the very atrocities that you are throwing a tantrum over, which is a _hell_ of a lot more than you are doing or have ever done!" His glare at the other man is truly a sight to behold.

Ignotus is mildly perturbed, which for him is saying a lot. “I don’t mean to insult your girlfriend,” he replies. “You must understand, I am thinking only of —”

“Of the island, and yourself! Not of the lives being lost, no, nor of the fact that Tina may very well Apparate off this island and be killed faster than you can whine about ‘sitting ducks’!”

“We must think of the majority,” Ignotus says snottily. “Of course it would be slightly regrettable for another Auror to be killed, but —”

Theseus has to physically restrain his brother from going after the councilman. “Not worth it,” he says firmly, grabbing Newt by the arm. Newt wrestles his way out of Theseus’s iron grip and stands there, straightening his shirt and panting. Tina has gone white, hands covering her mouth; Elsie looks horrified and close to tears; and Sophia doesn’t seem to know what to think or feel at this point.

“Slightly. Regrettable,” Newt says through gritted teeth. “And what would you care if your wife died? If your children died? Would that be slightly regrettable too?”

Ignotus glances at Tina, and his gaze is as cold and impassive as always. “We grew this island, Newton,” he says frostily. “We made a pledge to our people, that we would keep them safe. And we swore that if their safety was threatened, we would do what was necessary to save them.”

“This is quite enough,” Elsie finally butts in before her younger son can retaliate. “Ignotus, you and I will discuss this at a later time. Right now, I would be much obliged if you would turn around and _leave.”_ Her eyes flash dangerously at him. “We can meet at the manor with David in an hour or two.

“In the meantime, I would recommend that you reconsider your viewpoint and question whether you really want to act in such an appalling manner towards the very people who have kept you alive and breathing. We all want what is best for the island. But let us not forget the importance of other people’s lives as well. Good day.”

He falters, standing there.

 _“Good day,”_ Elsie repeats menacingly. She seizes her wand and waves it at the door, which opens wide. When he still doesn’t move, she sends him flying over the threshold, door banging shut behind him.

“Good one, Mum,” Theseus says, patting her on the back.

She falls limply onto the couch, exhausted.

“You okay, big bro?” Sophia asks tentatively, rubbing Newt’s arm. He’s staring at the floor, still breathing heavily. “Y’know, when we told you not to overexert yourself, we included screaming matches under the ‘overexertion’ category, but in this case I think it was worth it.”

“Slightly regrettable,” he hisses, apparently still unable to let it go. “If Tina was killed —”

“Stop,” Tina says sharply, turning him towards her and gripping his face in her hands. “Don’t go there. _Please_ stop going there.”

He grasps her forearm. “You may not be safe out there.”

“Yes, but I’ll be with _you,”_ she insists almost pleadingly. “We can leave, you said we can. But you need to stop reminding me that I could — I c-could die any day,” and the dam breaks. Sophia rushes over and throws her arms around the Auror, looking reproachfully at Newt. Elsie rubs Tina on the back and murmurs motherly words of comfort.

“Good job, Newt,” Sophia says acerbically as the magizoologist stands there, looking utterly miserable.

“Newton —” Theseus tries to say, but Newt spins around and storms off, slamming the door behind him.

* * *

Newt paces back and forth. That horrible man had touched a nerve, and even after realizing, he just kept touching it. To want to kick them off the island is one thing; to begin talking about Tina as though she isn’t a person, and to deem her potential death “slightly regrettable” is an unforgivable offense. He won’t admit it to anyone, but the death of those three Aurors has affected him more than he thought they would or could. After Tina went to bed last night, he snuck outside, to the beach, and ended up _crying,_ ankle-deep in water.

They were good men. To imagine their bodies violated, words grafted into their skin as though they were cattle being branded with an iron, killed and used as pawns in the most depraved game known to man… Newt isn’t one to be overly emotional about individual people’s welfare, but the _principle_ of it terrifies and disturbs him. It isn’t just that he can’t stand the thought of Tina dying. It’s that he _feels_ the pain that these attacks are causing. He feels it, bone deep, and he wishes to god he didn’t.

This is not to say that he was previously a cold-hearted, shallow person. These events are simply making him realize things about himself and his character that he’s less than pleased with. At some point, he knows deep down, things _will_ get better, and he will learn to cope — just as he’s learned to cope with everything else in his life thus far. He’s a scientist; he’s a problem-solver. So while he isn’t necessarily being totally helpless, it’s a lot all at once.

He wonders vaguely if someone will confront him now, try to placate him as though he’s a skittish beast about to attack. (Come to that, Fairclaw still won’t leave his mind. He manages to put a pin in that particular topic, because his head is about to explode if he doesn’t find a way to defuse his racing thoughts.)

Eventually Newt runs out of energy, and his scar starts to hurt, so he collapses in bed, rolling over onto his side and bringing his knees up to his chest. He feels very young and very alone. Frightening images roll over his eyelids, lightning and thunder and screams dance over his eardrums as though dancing over his grave, and then he’s asleep.

* * *

Dear Queenie,

Jeepers, you’ve missed a lot of stuff. I hope you and Jacob are doing okay.

I assume you’ve heard about the three Aurors. We did yesterday. This total asshole Ignotus, who’s part of the island council, started talking about how Tina needs to leave, and then started insulting her. Newt came to her rescue oh so chivalrously, it was balled up, honestly. He was ready to punch the living daylights outta that guy. I wouldn’t have complained.

I don’t really know why I’m writing you, actually, except I kinda need someone to lean on, or something. Everyone’s all concerned about Newt, he stormed upstairs and hasn’t come down in a couple hours. Elsie’s all set to go to a council meeting AGAIN, poor thing. I dunno how she’s keeping it together so well. I would’ve destroyed half the village, especially Ignotus, by now. I wish you’d meet her.

Tina’s having one of those internal kinda mental breakdowns, you know. She’s real quiet and won’t talk to anybody and the ANGST of her and Newt is palpable, I swear. Nobody knows what to do. I’ll probably volunteer as tribute eventually to go hunt down that pesky magizoologist.

I really miss you. I love everyone here, our little family, but y’know, you’re my real big sister. I wish you could be here and laugh at Newt and Tina and meet their personal tailors because hot DAWG they’re amazing!!! Someday you’ll come out here, though… maybe for their wedding.

Anyway, I’m gonna go see what I can do about the whole sap-fest happening right now. Love you.

-Sophia

P.S. Nelson and I have still been talking. He’s the exact opposite of me, you know that? But I kinda like it.

* * *

Dear Sophie,

Jacob and I have been worried sick about everyone! Oh honey, I’m so sorry to hear how bad things are going over there. I’m kinda glad I’m not listening to Newt’s thoughts right now, ‘cause I can only imagine. Elsie sounds delightful and yes, I think we’re all hoping for a wedding. Not now, probably.

I know you can do it, Soph. You and Tina and Newt and Theseus. Are you gonna travel still? Me and Jacob have been considering getting married out there. Everything’s so drab and depressed here, it feels like we’re gonna die any day, and we want it to be official. But we can’t worry ‘bout that now.

I told you Nels was taken with you! I’ve seen him a few times and thought I picked up on something to do with you. Aw, that’s just ducky!

Give my love to everyone, especially Tina.

Love,

Queenie

* * *

Seraphina Picquery is a strong woman. She has cried exactly once in the past 25 years. However, when the three dead bodies of her best Aurors show up in her office, she breaks. The sight is horrific; their murderer(s) tore through their shirts and emblazoned their awful slogan on each man’s abdomen.

“See they have a calling card now, huh,” Ewan says grimly, rubbing her shoulders as she sniffles. “I’d say that’s an unfortunate situation.”

“You are the king of understatements,” she tells him tearfully.

“Hey, cheer up, it’ll be okay,” he promises. “It’s gonna be fine.”

“I cared about them.”

“‘Course you did. They protected ya.”

“They did a superb job at it, too. It is so _radically_ unfair that they were the first of our Aurors to be killed. And Ewan… they had _families._ I suppose that’s one of the worst and most difficult things to swallow.”

“I know,” he says quietly. “Makes you reflect on life, doesn’t it.”

She sighs. “Just a little.” Then, “What do I do now?”

She’s sitting, so Ewan bends down and clutches her arms to look her earnestly in the eye. “Tell you what. You’re gonna pull it together, ‘cause you’re the goddamn President, and ain’t nobody got time for tears when you’re in charge of the country. Then, you’re gonna come up with a comforting statement for the people, even if you don’t believe it — and you probably won’t. But for now,” he grins and she _knows_ what’s coming, “I got just the ticket.” He waves his wand; two shot glasses and a large bottle of Gigglewater appear.

“Every so often, Ewan,” she says faintly as he pours, “I am very glad to have a brother.”

He winks. “You’re welcome, sis.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be honest, angry defensive self righteous Newt is my fave. We saw a glimpse of that potential for anger when he was clearly appalled at Grindelwald's implication that an Obscurus could be useful, and I can definitely see him having an angry outburst if someone threatened his creatures or people he cares about.
> 
> I mean, sue me if Newt is overly emotional or sensitive, but y'all are gonna have to live with it haha. He's gotten a lot better with Tina (like much, much more confident), but the thing is... everyone handles stress differently. Some people are better at it than others. I don't think he's weak though. Just a decent, sensitive dude who's in a really unfortunate situation and needs to learn how to not let that affect him so much. Also, he definitely showed some sensitivity in the movie; he was totally teary-eyed when Queenie and Jacob said goodbye.
> 
> I think the fact that he had such an easy life growing up did impact his being/not being an emotionally well-adjusted human being. Tina, Elsie, and Theseus have all dealt with adversity and learned to sort of self-regulate — and Sophia is just one of those magically naturally emotionally stable people (how do they do the thing? Honestly I'm more volatile than Newt) — but up until now Newt poured all his passion into his creatures. Now it's hitting him that he's also super not cool with people being killed unjustly (he's got a strong moral compass, IMO), not to mention suddenly actively caring about Tina and Sophia and Theseus and Elsie. Granted, he always cared about his family, but it's different now that they've spent more time together. So all in all, the magnitude of dealing with this stress in comparison to what he's used to with his creatures is staggering. Just my two cents.
> 
> PS Ignotus is just a dick. Honestly. He's the big tunnel-visioned party pooper who like lowkey has a point objectively but is being horrible and unsupportive at the same time. But you don't need to worry about him; I've introduced basically all the villains at this point :D
> 
> PPS Elsie is the bomb dot com. I feel like she'd be the type to adamantly defend any bratty child who dared come up against/harm one of her boys.
> 
> PPPS I s2g my OCs basically write themselves. So I claim no responsibility for their actions. Oh god, I'm totally a deranged writer. It's been a long week.
> 
> PPPPS I had to bring Queenie back in. I wish I had more time to explore her relationship with Sophia.


	63. We'll travel along singin' our song side by side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which many conversations are had, and Sophia discovers that her chosen big brother is ticklish.
> 
> “I’m a coffee person,” Tina informs Theseus weakly.
> 
> “On Scamander Island, you drink tea,” he replies sternly. “Tea and a biscuit. The solution to all woes.” Accordingly, he opens up a tin of cookies and lays a substantial portion out on a plate. “You have quite the woes to solve,” he adds with a wink.
> 
> Chapter title from "Side By Side" by Harry Woods (1927)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, have a little more flangst.
> 
> Hopefully the Newtina ramblings will pacify the people who find my writing too dialogue-heavy :P
> 
> Unedited as of now (because I need to do a lot of work today so I'm posting real quick before heading to school).

As she’d predicted, Sophia ends up tracking Newt down. She gestures for Theseus to deal with Tina — the two of them haven’t really _talked_ before, so it might be good — and trudges up the stairs.

“Knock knock,” she says softly, rapping on the door.

“Go away,” Newt says. She takes this as an invitation.

“Oh hey,” she greets him. He’s a spindly bundle underneath the comforter. Rolling her eyes, she turns the lights on, and then swiftly whips the quilt off like a magician in a magic trick. “Well,” she says, sitting down at his feet, “you look pathetic.”

It’s true: he’s obviously been crying, his shirt is wrinkled, his hair is a mess, and he has dark circles under his eyes.

“Alright, what’s eating you?” she asks.

He shrugs forlornly.

“Stop it,” she says impatiently, and whacks him on the shoulder. “You gotta pull it together. You’re upset about something other than Tina, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Well… you gonna talk about it?”

With a sigh, he drags himself into a sitting position. She moves beside him. “They died,” he says.

“Who, the Aurors? Yeah, they did.”

“I can’t take it.”

“The dying?”

“All of it.”

“All of what?”

“The cruelty. It’s abhorrent.”

“You’re really sensitive,” Sophia agrees. “But listen, remember when Graham died and Tina was a mess, and I told her that more people are gonna die? Well, they did, and they are. I know it’s hard. I know you must feel trapped. But Newt… nothing’s gonna get done if you tell yourself that you’re weak and you can’t deal with anything. Nothing.”

He doesn’t say anything, just stares at his hands. She lets him, because she’s learned that for the most part, he’ll sort through it on his own eventually. Not to mention the fact that she herself is fairly exhausted from all this hullabaloo, and so they end up sitting in silence for awhile. Finally, Newt speaks up, “You’re right.”

She nods, waiting. “We know I am. And?”

“I feel useless,” he admits bitterly. “What have I done to help, other than yell at Tina and get attacked by my own hippogriff?”

“How d’you think me and Theseus feel?”

“Theseus has already done his good deeds in war, and you have taken it upon yourself to be the emotional guide of everyone you meet, so I rather feel as though I am the only one remaining who has yet to perform any sort of service.”

When he puts it like that, it’s _sort_ of valid. And yet… “But you’ve been there for all of us. You think Tina could’ve gotten through any of this without you? She might’ve survived, yeah, but she wouldn’t feel as safe as she does, or as loved.

“Did you hear what she said earlier? You said it might not be safe and she said that she’ll be with you. You _are_ safety to her. That really isn’t easy, especially for people who _really_ don’t like to rely on others.”

“I suppose,” he says gloomily. She pecks him on the cheek and ducks when he inevitably tries to hit her back.

“Look, things are rough right now. We’re all just waiting around for the next bad news. The least we can do is to move on every time these little explosions happen, which I’m sure they will until this entire mess is sorted out — and it _will_ be. So I _highly_ recommend that you pull yourself together and try to look less pitiful.”

“Theseus once told me that I look like a morose puppy dog,” Newt says, getting to his feet.

“That is startlingly accurate,” she says, grinning.

He frowns. “I haven’t the faintest why I would tell you that.”

“‘Cause it’s true, and ‘cause you love me,” she answers cheekily, then pats him on the arm. It really isn’t fair, the fact that he can pat her condescendingly on the head but she would have to stand on tiptoes to do the same. “When you’re done, come downstairs.”

“Is Tina really angry with me?”

Sophia sighs. “I don’t think she has any gauge on her feelings right now. But she loves you, so it’s probably all good.”

“She doesn’t —”

“Look less pitiful, puppy dog,” Sophia says firmly, and closes the door.

* * *

Theseus busies himself in the kitchen as he sets a kettle on the stove to boil.

“I’m a coffee person,” Tina informs him weakly.

“On Scamander Island, you drink tea,” he replies sternly. “Tea and a biscuit. The solution to all woes.” Accordingly, he opens up a tin of cookies and lays a substantial portion out on a plate. “You have quite the woes to solve,” he says with a wink.

“Will Newt be okay?” she asks, feeling foolish the moment the words leave her mouth. She hates her habit of deferring to others for her boyfriend's emotional assessment and resolves to break it.

“Absolutely,” he answers without pause. “I must say, Newton’s tantrums have become increasingly complicated as he has grown up. I would say ‘matured,’ but recent events have made such a term questionable at best.”

“He’s being immature, isn’t he,” Tina sighs, coming to sit at the table.

“He’s being scared,” Theseus corrects her as he sets out two cups. “Newton scared is the same as Newton immature. I know it is intense and overwhelming, but as his defensive older brother, I do hope you will cut him slack. Although I heartily agree that he must learn to deal more effectively with his emotions, he is doing the best he can. In the meantime,” he continues, gracefully dropping a teabag in each mug, “all we can do is be patient.”

“Patience is getting harder,” Tina confesses. “I don’t know why we’re all encouraging him running straight into foreign territory to chase after dangerous, man-eating creatures.”

“Because if we did not encourage him, he would either attempt it alone or mope around until his misery has seeped into every fissure of this island. It would be quite catastrophic.” The kettle starts to whistle; Theseus pours the boiling water into their mugs and carries them over to the table. “Go on, eat up,” he adds, gesturing to the cookies.

“I’m not really hungry,” she mutters.

He eyes her. “That is a blatant lie.”

“I don’t want biscuits.”

“Ah. I see we have finally gotten you speaking our language,” he comments wryly.

“You know what I mean,” she snaps. He retreats with an apologetic look.

“Now,” he says once the tea has cooled, “why are _you_ upset?”

“I don’t know,” she says helplessly, “maybe because everyone keeps talking about how I’m a sitting duck, and how I could still die — I mean, there’s a woman out there who’s openly admitted she wants to kill me — and when Newt’s as upset as he is, it really doesn’t help _me_ calm down.”

“Yes, my brother has always lacked the self awareness to understand that his moods often affect those close to him as well.”

“Especially those who love him,” Tina says quietly, like a confession.

Theseus raises an eyebrow, then nods in silent understanding, but doesn’t press it. “Now,” he says, reaching for a cookie, “what are you going to do?”

“I’m exhausted. But I don’t want to go in there and get yelled at, or pushed away.”

Theseus checks his watch. “Nine o’clock is a scandalously early bedtime for the two of you, but I daresay you could both do with it. I have no idea what Sophia might be telling him, although I thoroughly trust in her ability to talk him into his senses, or at least something resembling his senses. And — ah, there she is.”

Sophia comes downstairs and immediately goes for the cookies. “Newt’s really annoying,” she announces. “I liked the ‘morose puppy dog’ description, though,” she says to Theseus, “I’m so gonna use that from now on. Anyway” — she sits next to Tina — “I think he’s pulled himself together. I told him to come downstairs when he’s ready, but _you_ look exhausted, so maybe the two of you should get some sleep. Oh look, tea.”

“No,” Theseus says firmly.

“Fine.” She rolls her eyes. “So, Tina, what’s the plan?”

“I... well, I suppose I ought to go to bed,” Tina decides, getting to her feet. “Thank you, both of you.”

“No problem,” Sophia says cheerfully, waving her off.

Halfway to the stairs, Tina stops, turns around, and grabs a few biscuits. Theseus grins. He _knew_ she was hungry.

* * *

“Do you think they'll actually talk to each other?” Sophia asks later, watching Theseus as he tidies up the guest house. He’s turned out to be a bit of a neat freak, which suits Sophia just fine as she can't stand cleaning and seeing as they spend a great deal of time together, he usually ends up cleaning her messes as well.

“I hope so,” he replies. He flicks his wand at the pile of dishes in the sink; they begin to wash themselves. Then he joins Sophia on the couch.

She moves so she's leaning against the arm and rests her feet on his lap, humming to herself. It's been nice having a friend here, honestly. Although she really does love Newt and Tina, she's not sure what she would be doing if it weren't for Theseus. Of course, the village boys — young men, technically — are all very eager to keep her company. But she would much rather continue to send letters to Nelson and roam around the island with Theseus, who is no less sought after but hasn't paid other women much individual attention since the dinner and ball.

“I think they'll talk,” she decides thoughtfully. “I hope they don't get in a big _thing,_ but at least they didn't run in the opposite direction. It's such a pain having to hunt them down.”

“They _have_ improved, haven't they?” Theseus says with a tinge of amusement and nostalgia.

Sophia nods emphatically. “To be honest, there was a time where I really thought they weren't gonna make it. The angst was unreal. But I think he just caught Tina at a bad moment. Seriously, if they could muddle through all that emotional stuff, I'm pretty sure they can handle whatever happens next.”

Theseus smiles and pats her knee. “Then good job to the both of us.”

She high fives him, then lazily Summons a book from the bookshelf and settles back to read. He ends up writing some letters to old friends, and the evening passes in companionable silence.

* * *

Tina pauses a moment before opening the door to the bedroom. Weeks ago, she would've shied away, found some reason why this would all trace back to Newt not liking her. Or else she would have gotten angry and shut down. Now, she's incredibly determined not to make that mistake again.

When she enters, he's just changed into his pajamas and is quietly making the bed.

“Hey,” she says. He turns around and his face lights up, despite the fact that he's clearly worn out.

“Hello,” he replies, hesitating only a beat before coming over to give her a hug and kiss on the cheek.

“Are you going to bed?” she asks.

“Only if you are.”

 _I love you._ One of these days she's going to blurt it out if she doesn't get a grip. Instead, she smiles and grabs her pajamas. “I'll be right back.”

When she returns, Newt is already under the covers but has carefully folded back the blankets on her side. Once she’s under them, he reaches over and tucks the edge around her, then settles back against the pillows.

“How are you?” Tina asks a little apprehensively.

The corner of his mouth quirks. “Alright,” he replies, and in a single fluid, joint motion they move towards one another.

As the weeks go on, Tina finds that she's somehow developing the ability to tell how Newt feels, simply based on touch. Although she feels silly to phrase it like that in her head, there’s no other way to describe such a connection. It lies in the way he holds her, how close he gets and which points of contact he chooses.

When he's happy, he’s enthusiastic in his physical affection, filling the silences with smiles and small snorts of laughter and wrinkles at the corner of his eyes. Sad or worried, he touches her differently — no less confident, but enough for her to observe the subtleties. He’s more likely to intertwine their fingers or to put his head on her chest; he presses the palm of his hand against the small of her back as they leave the room; he dances his fingertips delicately along the contours of her face before kissing her. When he's angry, well… Tina hasn't really seen him angry very much, but thus far the fallout often results in more passion than she’d expected of him.

Sophia may be able to read Newt’s body language and words — and sometimes his thoughts — but only Tina has been able to understand Newt in this way. Even if she's only gradually untangling his mind’s inner workings, the ease with which she has grown to know him through his steady physical presence is what reassures her every time she begins to doubt.

Tonight, she can't tell if he's being protective or vulnerable, but either way there's a certain calmness between them.

“Thanks for defending my honor,” she tells him impishly. He finds her hand under the covers and squeezes it.

“I told you, I’m very gallant.”

She laughs. “If you say so.”

“I saved your life,” he points out. “I seem to recall you saying so yourself.”

“True,” she admits. “I guess now I have to find a way to save _your_ life.”

He tugs her over to him then, so that she’s curled snugly against his side. “You already have,” he says.

Tina pulls back in surprise. “What?”

“I suppose it depends on your definition of ‘life.’ But you have certainly _changed_ mine.”

Before Newt, Tina was happy enough. She went about her business, she made enough money to support her and her sister, and she was doing something she loved — until, of course, that all fell to pieces and here she is.

Did he change her life? Well, a lot of things have changed her life, for better and for worse. Alec did; had she not fallen in love with him, she might not have pursued a career as an Auror, for one. She wouldn’t have had crippling trust issues, either, but it wasn’t _too_ bad. Especially since she met Newt.

Having known what it was like not to have anyone to trust, not to be intimate with people for years, makes their relationship all the sweeter. Granted, in moments of anger or frustration or the simple ups and downs of life, her inner demons will no doubt come out to play. She may be jealous, insecure, panicked, and downright difficult. He will invariably revert back to his stuttering, fumbling self. No one is perfect. But he changed her; they changed each other. They _found_ each other.

She realizes she’s been quiet for awhile now. Newt is still watching her, with something like fondness and warmth and happiness in his gaze. She gives a little head shake and moves closer to him.

“Sorry. I was thinking about something.”

“May I ask what?”

“Us,” she replies honestly.

He doesn’t say anything, just kisses her on the head and then runs his fingers lightly through her hair. “Goodnight,” he says softly, and waves his wand.

“Goodnight,” Tina murmurs, finding her usual comfort in the steady beating of his heart.

_I love you._

* * *

_Week 5, Friday_

By morning, things have smoothed over since the previous day’s events. Or as smoothed over as anything can be on this damn island. At any rate, people seem in slightly higher spirits and the village has returned to its normal hustle and bustle, but after the remaining visitors leave, Wyverthwaite is to be officially closed for business. Guests of inhabitants are still allowed. (Newt thought rather hopefully that the entire young male population might be eradicated, but unfortunately several of their neighbors intend to continue hosting them.)

The weather is working in their favor, and so Theseus, Sophia, Tina, and Newt waste quite a lot of time on the beach: Sophia dons her swimsuit and goes crashing into the water with Theseus while Tina and Newt observe from the shore.

Once Sophia and Theseus have exhausted themselves, the four of them play tiddlywinks for awhile, which ends in a total mess and chips flying everywhere (thanks to Sophia). After _that_ game is over, Newt and Sophia stay on the beach while Tina and Theseus walk to Wyverthwaite to bring back lunch from Winthrop’s.

“You think they’re getting along?” Sophia asks as the two leave.

“Tina gets along with everyone.”

“No, sometimes she annoys people. Used to, at least. That’s why you’re a perfect match.”

“Theseus likes her.”

Sophia nods. “Yeah, he does. He also thinks you guys should get married, but that’s just the popular opinion which you’re constantly ignoring.”

“We can’t get married,” Newt snaps.

“Oh?” she asks, quirking an eyebrow.

“We are _not_ getting into this discussion again.”

“I think we _are.”_

“No, we —”

“Oh, by the way, Nelson says hello.”

“What?”

“Nelson Wisby. You know, the guy we met at The Wrinkled Whelk. Queenie’s friend. I’ve been writing letters to him since we got here.”

“I'm sorry, you've been _what?”_

“Writing letters to Nelson,” Sophia says nonchalantly.

“And he's been writing _back?”_

“He sent me an owl first!”

“Wh — what —” Newt stutters.

“He's a nice guy, I like him a lot better than Carter.”

“You don't need to like _anyone,”_ Newt says decisively.

“Nah, I gotta get married eventually.”

“You don't, you can just be my assistant forever —”

“And babysit all the babies you're gonna have with Tina?”

“No! What? Babies —”

“You better name one of them Sophia,” she warns. “Or else I’ll quit.”

“And do us all a bloody favor,” Newt mutters.

“We’re sitting on sand and I’m not scared to throw it at you, you know,” she says. “It’s not like I saved your _life_ or anything.”

He quiets. “Thank you for that, by the way.”

She shrugs. “It’s what I do. And I am _not_ signing up to be your babysitter. I never signed up to run a 30-year-old’s love life either, but now look where we are.”

“I’m sorry — nobody has forced you to intrude,” Newt says indignantly. “Your involvement is entirely of your own volition. And you aren’t running it. You are... helping it.”

“Yeah, but the world would combust if I didn’t intrude,” Sophia points out. “Plus, you know. I love you, and stuff.”

Newt stares resolutely out over the water.

“Newtie...” she wheedles.

“No.”

“Great, I’ll just go tell Fairclaw to attack you again, and then you’ll say it. Or maybe I could knock you unconscious anyway. Or have Theseus do it, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

“You are incorrigible,” Newt groans, and lies down in the sand. Sophia joins him. After a moment, she leans over and pokes him in the ribs, watching in glee as he yelps and jackknifes violently. “Do _not_ do that!” he shouts, getting to his feet.

“Do what, _tickle_ you?” she asks mirthfully as she stands as well and begins advancing. He may be fast, but no one is more agile than Sophia, and thus he ends up in a helpless, writhing heap as she attacks him. “Wow, you’re super weak,” she adds as he tries to fight her off.

“Stop it —”

Sophia glances up and sees Tina and Theseus approaching. “Oh, Tina’s gonna _love_ this.”

He struggles to push her off of him then. “Stop —”

“Relax, I’m pretty sure she’s seen you in more compromising positions,” Sophia replies, and starts ruthlessly tickling him again.

“Theseus, help!” Newt yells as his brother gets closer.

Theseus is thoroughly amused, and crosses his arms. “I am afraid you are on your own this time.”

“Tina —”

She smirks, because her boyfriend just continues to reach new heights on the “adorable” factor, but eventually decides to come to his rescue. “Come on, Soph,” she says, tugging the 20-year-old off of Newt. “We have food.”

 _That_ catches Sophia's attention, and she finally relents, nearly stepping on Newt’s face as she goes to join Theseus.

“You okay?” Tina asks, looking down at an incredibly disheveled, sandy, and red-faced magizoologist.

“Fine, just fine,” he says airily, trying to get up — but he keeps sinking into the sand.

“You’re ridiculous,” Tina says fondly, and sits down next to him. After only a moment of hesitation, she leans over and kisses him. His lips are dry, his face is probably sunburned, and his hands are gritty with sand, but she could not care less.

“FOOD!” Sophia shouts over at them, effectively breaking the kiss. “Ready, catch!” and she throws a loaf of bread in their general direction. It lands in the sand, several feet away from the target. “Oops.”

Newt sighs and looks hopelessly at Tina, who shakes her head, and suddenly they’re both laughing. Their euphoria is unexpected and probably rather inappropriate given the lingering weight of the Aurors’ deaths, yet at the same time they can’t help it.

“Oi!” Sophia shouts when they do nothing but gaze at each other, trying to stop being ridiculous but so irrevocably drunk on one another. “FOOD!” she repeats. Theseus pats her on the head and mentions something about a lost cause.

Eventually the two lovebirds calm down, and Newt helps his girlfriend to her feet. He wraps his arms around her, kissing her on the cheek, before finally relinquishing his grip and joining his brother and assistant on the picnic blanket.

“It’s about time,” Sophia says through a mouthful of food.

“You are altogether unnecessary,” Newt informs her, reaching for a fork.

She rolls her eyes. “You _love_ me.”

“We all love you,” Tina says placatingly.

This seems to do the trick, or perhaps Sophia’s hunger wins over her desire to provoke Newt, and they finish lunch happily, aided by the sun and the beautiful view (which, as Poppy said, _never_ gets old... never). In this moment, at least, all is well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who's familiar with the love languages? Anyway, one of them is physical touch, and although I have no specific "proof" or reason, I thought it would be apt to have that be Newt's primary love language. Although he's plenty talkative with Tina, and quite romantic, the words of affirmation are generally not contrived, so I wouldn't think that those would be his primary ways of deliberately showing love and affection.
> 
> For those who don't know, the concept of love languages is that everyone has one primary love language and one secondary. Love languages are ways in which they both like to receive and give love.
> 
> The five love languages are: Gift Giving, Words of Affirmation, Quality Time, Acts of Service (Devotion), and Physical Touch.


	64. Went to the station, didn't see no train

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Newt and Tina don't get along with the Ministry of Magic, and there are two more unfortunate deaths.
> 
> “Thank you, Mr. Scamander,” Emmeline says coolly. “We’re trying to figure out if the breeder of these hippogriffs is to blame, and if so, whether all of his other hippogriffs might potentially act out in this way as well.”
> 
> Newt’s eyes widen as he understands the implication. “You cannot mean to — you can’t do anything to hurt the other hippogriffs, they’re not dangerous, none of them are!”
> 
> She gestures to him. “Really now?”
> 
> Chapter title from “How Long, How Long Blues” by Leroy Carr and Scrapper Blackwell (1928)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hector is an idiot. Such an idiot. But also slightly endearing. When he calls Fairclaw "Haresaw" I laugh every time tbh. And he so enjoys tea.
> 
> Unedited again because I should be doing my homework right now ;)

_ Week 5, Saturday _

Emmeline Carmichael schedules a meeting to discuss both Fairclaw and Lucille for Saturday afternoon. Sophia eagerly asks if she can come along and translate Newt’s stuttered speech into normal human words, but it’s decided by Elsie, Theseus, and probably the whole of the island that Sophia’s unsolicited presence at the Ministry of Magic is unlikely to be well-received.

As such, shortly after a lovely picnic lunch, Newt and Tina find themselves in the Minister for Magic’s office, which is not nearly so lovely. Before they can take in the sights, Hector Fawley appears, followed by a stressed Emmeline.

“Hello,” Hector says jovially.

“Please sit,” Emmeline says firmly, brushing past salutations. She seems to be directing Hector as much as Tina and Newt. They all take a seat. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to take some notes,” she adds, flashing an attempt at a smile and Summoning a notebook and enchanted quill.

“Er... okay,” Newt says.

“Thank you,” she says in a tone that indicates she would have done anyway, even if they had begged her not to. “Now. Tell me the story of your attack?”

He does. Hector seems mildly interested and very distracted. When Newt is done, Emmeline nods slowly and begins interrogating him:  _ How long have you known Fairclaw? What has she been like up to this point? Is there any way anybody else could access the case? Why do you keep her? Is this unusual behavior for a beast? Aren’t there hippogriff attacks on the daily? _

Newt bristles at the last question. “If humans treated them with more respect and kindness, they would never attack,” he says heatedly. “It’s only because you are the most vicious creatures on the —”

“Thank you, Mr. Scamander,” Emmeline says coolly. “We’re trying to figure out if the breeder of these hippogriffs is to blame, and if so, whether all of his other hippogriffs might potentially act out in this way as well.”

Newt’s eyes widen as he understands the implication. “You cannot mean to — you can’t do anything to hurt the other hippogriffs, they’re not dangerous, none of them are!”

She gestures to him. “Really now?”

“No, Fairclaw was —  _ is —  _ fine and tame, she — it was an anomaly, she’s never like that, she wasn’t like that with my assistant —”

“Oh, then perhaps your assistant should be working in the case instead,” Emmeline suggests. Beside him, Tina tenses.

“Please don’t harm the hippogriffs, you can’t possibly —”

“I’m afraid, Mr. Scamander, that when it comes to these types of matters, such decisions are left up to  _ our _ discretion. We  _ are _ the government, you know. We can’t have other savage creatures traipsing around in times like these.”

_ “Savage creatures?”  _ Newt repeats in outrage. “Savage — they aren’t savage, they’re just —”

“That hippogriff attempted to kill you.”

“She — she wasn’t right in the mind, see, she would never act like that —  _ never,  _ and neither would any others — please don’t hurt them!” he begs her.

“Would you rather we hurt humans instead?” she points out. Hector appears nonplussed, then alarmed, then dismayed as his eyes dart between a severe Emmeline and distressed Newt.

“You know  _ you’re _ the Minister, right?” Tina butts in loudly, looking at him with immense dislike. “So I’d like to know what  _ you _ think.”

Emmeline’s gaze swivels over to him. He leans forward awkwardly. “Ahem. I, er... well, I would think that there are... there is a certain... hmm.” 

Newt wants to hit his head against the wall several times, until he either passes out or wakes up from this nightmare. 

“Maybe not,” Hector finally tells Emmeline weakly. “We could wait... if this fellow says that Haresaw” — “Fairclaw,” Newt mutters — “yes, that... if this fellow has raised her and  _ says _ she wouldn’t usually do that, then it might just be an accident.”

“An accident?” Emmeline’s eyes flash. “Hector, this was no accident. This was a  _ malicious _ attack by an aggressive beast!”

“She isn’t aggressive!” Newt yells.

“Babe,” Tina warns him under her breath, subtly squeezing his hand. This is not the time to get into yet another shouting match.

“There may, ah, be other forces at play, right?” Hector says, looking around anxiously. “We could... erm, perhaps let’s wait and see what happens next.”

“You mean when one of the other hippogriffs bred by this same breeder all go wild and start killing people? Muggles, even?” Emmeline retorts.

“I thought we were going to talk about Lucille,” Tina speaks up before anyone can perpetuate the argument. “Minister, Miss Carmichael... I have concerns about Lucille Wadcock.”

Newt feels a surge of pride as his girlfriend makes eye contact with Emmeline and, unyielding, wins their staring contest. Emmeline concedes.

“Thank you,” Tina says primly. She repeats everything she uncovered during their confrontation. “Does anybody know anything about this Mordechai guy?”

“The name isn’t familiar,” Emmeline admits, clearly hating the concept of  _ not _ knowing something.

“Tremendous,” Newt says, standing up. “Good day, then.”

“You’re leaving?” Hector asks, alarmed, as though his new friend has just taken an unexpected leave. Newt rather suspects that he’s starving for company other than an iron-fisted advisor.

“I wish you’d reconsider working with the Ministry,” Emmeline says, evidently knowing a lost cause when she sees one. “Until we meet again, Mr. Scamander, Miss Goldstein.”

Without another word, the two exit the office, slamming the door behind them.

“I wish they hadn’t left,” Hector bemoans. “I could’ve made them  _ tea.” _

* * *

_ Week 5, Sunday _

The bad news keeps coming. Newt and Tina are awoken Sunday morning when an owl starts pecking frantically at their window. Newt flicks his wand; the window opens, allowing the bird to fly in. The letter is addressed to Tina, and as soon as she reads the first line she falls back against the pillows limply.

“Who died?” Newt asks; he suspects with dread that he is going to be asking this question frequently in coming weeks. 

“Stella Pesce.”

He feels sick. “The owner of Platitudinous Pages?”

Tina nods, her eyes welling with tears. “Newt, she was my friend… she was so  _ nice,  _ you saw her —”

He remembers how Stella had kindly, instinctively come to his rescue at the book signing. He remembers her open smile, how well-run and cared for her store was. He remembers how she laughed afterwards as she and Tina relived the good old days. He hadn't known the three Aurors, but he’d spent real time with Stella. It’s unthinkable, that such an  _ alive _ woman could be… dead. Just like that.

“She was helping rebuild an impoverished city in Montana that had been ravaged by Grindelwald, and she was swept up in it,” Tina chokes. “They attacked last night.”

“Merlin’s beard, I’m so sorry,” he whispers, pulling her into his arms and blinking as tears snake down his face as well. He’s so  _ helpless:  _ all he can do now, and all he will ever be able to do, is to hold Tina and kiss her and apologize for the deeds of a twisted, evil man. He  _ hates _ it. But Sophia is right, as always — he cannot go into a tailspin, and succumb to his own weakness. He has someone to fight for (multiple people, actually).

Theseus and Sophia come barging up the staircase now and fling open the door. Theseus is gripping a letter bearing MACUSA’s insignia. “You heard,” he says immediately. He and Sophia join Newt and Tina on the bed.

“I can't believe it,” Tina despairs. Newt looks plaintively to his brother and assistant. Neither of them seem capable of suggesting a better alternative, and so they all sit together in silence, mourning the loss of yet another innocent life.

* * *

“I’ve booked passage for Territory of New Guinea,” Newt says that afternoon. News of Stella’s death has spread only because of Tina’s connection to her — otherwise, the villagers have no reason to be invested. However, it would seem that Graham’s mother was right: everyone does know of Tina, for better or worse. Newt is evidently old news now.

Elsie has gone to yet another council meeting, looking as run down as her son, which is saying something, although ever since the  _ slight  _ hiccup with Ignotus and Sophia’s subsequent lecture, he's doing marginally better. As better as one can be in a time like this, at least.

The four of them are sitting on the beach behind the guest house again. Theseus erected a magical fence of sorts, temporary so as not to be intrusive, but very necessary to avoid prying eyes. It’s gotten to the point where every sympathetic, pitying comment makes Tina want to strangle the commenter; thus, it is unanimously decided that they might be best off distancing her from the islanders for the time being. Newt has been equally recluse, leaving Sophia and Theseus to play the role of messenger. Now, they’re situated in a circle, all sat with their legs crossed, when Newt makes his announcement.

“Where’d you  _ book passage?”  _ Sophia asks, lightly mocking his accent. 

“With _ The Wayfinder _ . It's a magical ocean liner,” he explains to Tina and Sophia. “It doesn't normally run through North America.”

“When do we leave?” Tina asks, effectively dispelling all of his fears that she will suddenly decide against it. 

“Next Monday.”

“Another week here?”

“Would you rather somewhere else?”

“I miss Queenie,” she says in a small voice. Theseus reaches over and pats her on the back.

Newt and Sophia exchange looks. “We — we could go back to New York,” Newt offers cautiously. 

Tina looks up. “Really?”

“I don’t know how safe it might be,” he confesses. “That would be my concern. Leaving this island in general.”

“These are grave times indeed,” Theseus acknowledges. “But either way, you  _ are _ going to leave us. You cannot hide here forever, and much as I have enjoyed sleuthing about with Sophie” — he elbows her gently — “it is no longer my role to play.”

“I wish we could  _ do _ something,” Sophia sighs.

“Don’t we all,” Tina says wryly. “I don’t know. Maybe we shouldn’t go back.”

“It is entirely up to your discretion,” Newt replies.

“What d’you want to do?” she asks, peering up at his face. “I mean, you’re in this too.”

“I... would rather not go back,” he admits. “Someday, of course, but in the current climate... have you heard from Madam Picquery?” he inquires of his brother.

Theseus nods. “Things are getting increasingly tense in New York. You might do her some good, Tina, but I believe she would rather you stay out of harm’s way. You do...” He hesitates, then glances at Newt. “Please don’t assault me, brother. But Tina, you do have a target painted on your back. To bring that to New York, where there are thousands of Muggles and wizards alike, not to mention MACUSA, may be ill advised at this time.”

Tina’s face falls. Newt feels terrible, but truth be told he’s grateful for his brother’s point. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes to his girlfriend.

“How many more people are going to die?” she asks bleakly.

“Probably a lot,” Sophia says in the firm voice that often precipitates a pep talk. “Look, we’ve discussed this, all of us. We can’t give up now, right? People are gonna die. People we care about. The important thing is that  _ we’re _ all together, the four of us — five including Mom — and we’re all alive. The deaths are scary and horrid, I won’t pretend they aren’t. But we can’t just... let every death debilitate us. We can’t.”

“She is right,” Theseus says with a sigh.

“So where do we go now?” Tina asks.

“Food,” Theseus replies decisively. He stands and offers a hand to Sophia, who rejects it and hops up of her own accord. Newt and Tina follow suit. 

In the guest house, Elsie is waiting anxiously for them. She looks pained; the meeting must not have gone well. The house-elves have already laid out a generous luncheon.

“What happened, Mom?” Sophia asks in concern the moment they step inside.

Elsie ignores her, turning instead to Newt. “How soon do you intend to depart?” 

“One week,” Newt answers.

“And there is no way you could make that sooner?”

Sophia groans. “What has that  _ asshole  _ gone and said now?”

Elsie gestures for them all to take a seat. “He has been very emphatic about Newt and Tina absenting the island, and I am afraid that the villagers have begun to agree.”

“David couldn’t have!” Sophia declares.

“He is beginning to cave,” Elsie says regretfully. “I tried my utmost. At this rate, I fear some sort of uprising, and the last thing we need in a time like this is more conflict.”

Newt is so incredibly fed up with everything that he doesn’t know what to say. “I can move our departure date up,” he allows. “But this is  _ our _ island, and I very well intend on bringing Tina back. If they hold this against her...”

“They won’t,” Elsie reassures him. “This is temporary. Everyone is very fond of Tina. It is, as Ignotus puts it rather snottily, the principle of the thing.”

“I understand,” Tina says quietly. “We’ll leave as soon as we can.”

Newt looks hopelessly, as he is wont to do, at his brother, then Sophia, and then his mother. Nobody appears able to come up with a solution. After all, if they were, no one would be in this mess in the first place.

* * *

_ Week 6, Monday _

Dear Luce,

I have terrible news. Little Gwenny was killed by Grindelwald supporters last night. We lost track of her for just a moment, then everything went black, and we found her in the middle of the street, dead. 

Oh, Lu, please won’t you come and see us? We’re devastated, and we need our big sister. Please. I don’t know where you are, or why you haven’t been talking to us, but I beg you. Please. We need you. 

-Esmeralda

* * *

Lucille stares at the parchment, at the stark black letters, at the tear stain on the corner. Burying her head in her hands and smearing her armor of lipstick and eyeliner and mascara, she cries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder: Gwenny is Lucille's niece. She was mentioned in [chapter 26](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9240317/chapters/21139793) in Esmeralda's letter. 
> 
> Lucille is the oldest, followed by Callum (who's gay), and Esmeralda (who's married with children, the youngest of whom was Gwendolyn). I lowkey have family trees sketched out for her and a few other characters so like... there's that.
> 
> I always feel like it's OOC for Tina to call Newt babe/darling/etc. (oh god I can't stand fics where they're saccharine sweet and calling each other love and darling and dear all the time), but I can see her letting it slip every once in awhile (same with "darling"), so I try to use terms of endearment in moderation. I call people bae a lot (and I way overuse girl, bro, man, and dude) but I only call S.O.'s babe, and usually the only context in which I use it is when I'm warning them like, "Babe... babe. No." Which is kind of how I view Tina's usage.


	65. The whole world smiles with you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sophia tries to get her parents' approval to go to Territory of New Guinea, and her efforts to gain support of her idea result in antics with Theseus; and Elsie has a drink with her sons, Tina, and Sophia.
> 
> Theseus raises an eyebrow. “Is that a challenge, Miss Ollerton?”
> 
> Sophia grins cheekily at him. “Not at all.”
> 
> “Well, then. Challenge accepted,” and he lunges at her. She shrieks and somehow they manage to tumble onto the couch, Sophia promptly bouncing onto the floor and baked goods flying everywhere.
> 
> Chapter title from "When You're Smiling" by Larry Shay, Mark Fisher, and Joe Goodwin (1928)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really excited to see a couple new readers commenting! And I love my loyal, long time ones <3
> 
> "Applications" to be featured as an OC in upcoming scenes are still open, so you can go to comments on chapter 62 to find the information, or message me on tumblr @academla.

_Week 6, Tuesday_

They haven’t been at Scamander Island for even two weeks, but so much has already happened it feels as though a decade has passed. The deaths of the three Aurors, Ignotus's determination to evict them, Stella... not to mention they’ve sustained a dinner, Poppy Winthrop, a ball, a hostage situation, and a hippogriff attack in the meantime.

The past few days since the ridiculous meeting at the Ministry have been spent by Newt and Sophia taking frequent trips into the suitcase. Newt’s first time back after the attack was nerve-wracking for all, as nobody knew exactly how Fairclaw would receive him. Ever since the incident, she’d acted perfectly normal and affectionate with Sophia, and respectful of Tina and Theseus.

However, after going into Wyverthwaite with Newt to pick up some food from the village grocery — having not anticipated such a lengthy trip, they came unprepared — Sophia cautiously accompanied Newt, to whom Fairclaw was as gentle as always. The attack _must_ have been a fluke. At any rate, Newt and Sophia have rejoined at the hip, and stay attached to each other and the case for the majority of Sunday and Monday.

Sometimes Tina wonders if she shouldn’t be jealous of the _beasts._ But realistically, she’s happy to see Newt engaged again, and truth be told they really do need breathing room from time to time. Much as she loves him, their relationship is beginning to get strained, and stupid, trivial bickering more frequent. This understanding sufficiently quells any jealousy and resentment that might otherwise have bubbled up to the surface and caused, as Sophia puts it, “a whole hullabaloo.”

She mulls this over as she helps Elsie clean up after breakfast. Although the house-elves and maids are more than happy to do their share, the guest cottage has become something of an actual home (with her and Newt as its primary occupants) and she’s been treating it as such. A small part of her can't help but feel like she's playing house; she’d be lying if she said the thought had never crossed her mind that she and Newt might someday live in a place such as this for real.

Newt managed to charm the owner of an ocean liner leaving Sunday. However, the issue of Sophia’s inclusion has recently arisen. Newt is torn between playing the conspiring brother and the Mature Responsible Adult; on the one hand, he’s perfectly happy just dragging his assistant along and carefully pretending her parents said yes, but on the other he did promise George to take good care of her, and thus such a double-cross would likely work against him. Yes, she’s old enough that her parents can’t technically make decisions for her, but he knows that if Elsie were to disapprove of a plan or tell him to stop working for a trusted employer/friend, he would have enormous difficulty feeling alright going ahead regardless. And _he’s_ thirty.

In the end, Sophia decides to send her mother an owl, supplemented by one from Newt.

* * *

Dear Mom,

I know we haven’t talked in awhile, and you’re probably worried (or maybe not). A LOT of crazy stuff has happened, as I’m sure you heard. But thanks for leaving me alone.

Newt and Tina are going to Territory of New Guinea leaving this Sunday and I really wanna go. But since it’s so far away, I thought I should run it by you first instead of just going. See, I’m a good daughter!!! So, it would be great if you and Dad could talk and send an owl back giving me the go ahead. A simple “yes” will suffice. We know I'm gonna go anyway, so let's save everyone the grief of arguing over it.

Swell! I hope you’re all doing okay and surviving the world as it comes crashing down around our shoulders. It’s a real whoopee, huh.

Love,

Soph

P.S. Elsie/my second mom is insisting that Newt write you a letter too, to be mature or whatever. I apologize in advance for whatever he might say.

* * *

Dear Mrs. Ollerton,

I am writing on behalf of your daughter, Sophia. As you know, she has been working as my assistant for awhile now. I do not enjoy speaking highly of her, as she has ample confidence as it is, but she is remarkably talented and I would be remiss to let that go untapped.

I am travelling to Territory of New Guinea to further my research, leaving this Sunday. I would be very much obliged if you would grant Sophia permission to come along. As I said, she has substantial talent and continuing her studies with me in New Guinea would, I think, be a tremendous idea.

Please do not ever tell her I said this, but I would also like to establish that I genuinely care about your daughter. My family is quite fond of her, as am I, and as I am sure she can attest, I have always been exceedingly protective and careful with her safety, except that one time I forgot about the protection spells. But Tina has been held hostage and I have been attacked by a hippogriff, while your daughter remains unscathed. Therefore, we take great care of her.

Please tell Mr. Ollerton that I say hello. I would send him a letter myself but Sophia deemed that a “horrible idea, really awful, don’t do that” and you strike me as the slightly more rational one. Don’t tell Mr. Ollerton I said that.

Regards,

Newt Scamander

* * *

_Week 6, Wednesday_

Dear Sophie and Mr. Scamander,

Thank you for your letters. Yes, Soph, you are a wonderful daughter. It is indeed a real whoopee. Mr. Scamander, your secrets are safe with me, and I appreciate the verbose letter.

Unfortunately, as rational as I am, I’m going to have to withhold my permission, as is Mr. Ollerton. Territory of New Guinea is unfamiliar terrain for all of you, very far from home, and everywhere seems to be risky right now. In fact, given Scamander Island’s protective spells, I would be very happy for you to stay put.

I wish you well on your travels, Mr. Scamander, and hope to see you again soon. Soph, your dad and I love you, and please do keep in touch. It has taken an enormous amount of effort to prevent Dad from bombarding you with owls or showing up on the island himself.

Love,

Mom/Emilia

* * *

“That’s bushwa,” Sophia declares the second she reads the letter. “I’m still coming.”

Newt looks uncomfortable. “I’m afraid that I cannot in good conscience go against your parents’ wishes.”

Sophia looks at him in _extreme_ disappointment. “Oh, you choose now to be all virtuous and respectful?”

“I’m always virtuous and respectful!”

“Yeah, sure,” she scoffs. “I'm 20 anyway, they can't stop me.”

“Legally, but you are still their daughter,” Newt points out. “Given that I have somehow acquired responsibility for your wellbeing, and your parents work for the government, I will not go against their wishes.”

“Well, then un-acquire responsibility,” Sophia snaps. Then she reads the letter again and groans. “D’you think I could pretend I didn’t understand and I thought the letter said _yes?_ Would that be convincing?”

“No,” Theseus interjects, walking into the kitchen.

“I’m sorry, did I _ask_ you?” she retorts.

“No, but seeing as you are the queen of unsolicited responses, if I were you, I would not even attempt to criticize me.”

“Well, you’re not me,” Sophia shoots back, and then turns to Newt. “So, I’m coming, right?”

Newt glances at his brother helplessly; Theseus raises his hands in surrender. “Please leave me out of this. I was just seeking out some biscuits.”

Sophia swipes the cookies off the counter before he can reach them. “If you endorse my plan to Newt, you can have them.”

“Really?” Theseus sighs.

“Then it’ll be two against one, and Newt’ll _have_ to agree. And don’t you dare bring in your Auror girlfriend,” she adds fiercely.

“I really just wanted a biscuit,” Theseus says forlornly.

Sophia clutches the tin to her chest. “Nope. Agree with me. Tell Newt I should go anyway.”

“Sophia...”

“Theseus...”

Theseus attempts to grab the cookies from her. She’s faster than he is, however, and leaps out of the way just in time.

“Agree with me!” she shouts.

“Leave me out of it!” he answers, advancing on her again.

She darts under his arm as he reaches for the biscuits a second time, spinning around for effect and bounding gaily through the open walkway into the living room, where she leans against the couch and casually pops a cookie in her mouth, smirking.

“Now, _that_ is just impolite,” Theseus says sternly.

“Agree with me,” she coaxes him.

“I really only wanted to eat,” he says in mounting frustration.

“You can’t hit a girl,” Sophia asserts.

He raises an eyebrow. “Is that a challenge, Miss Ollerton?”

She grins cheekily at him. “Not at all.”

“Well, then. Challenge accepted,” and he lunges at her. She shrieks and somehow they manage to tumble onto the couch, Sophia promptly bouncing onto the floor and baked goods flying everywhere.

Newt, spectating this entire performance, can’t help but think that Theseus has just lost the right to accuse _Newt_ of immature antics. For Merlin’s sake, his 34-year-old brother is laughing on the couch, covered with cookies, having just attacked a young woman half his size in the name of sweets.

“Agree with me!” Sophia demands. Theseus has sprawled out on the sofa; the 20-year-old appears to have a burst of inspiration, then, and gets to her feet, straightening her shirt. “Theseus, you aren’t ticklish like Newt, are you?” she asks innocently.

“No,” Theseus claims immediately and urgently, moving to sit up, but she’s too quick for him and all of a sudden he’s writhing around just as Newt had the other day. This is absolute madness, Newt thinks rather disapprovingly (and hypocritically). “Newt!” his brother shouts.

Seeing as nobody came to his aid when Sophia assaulted _him,_ Newt turns his back and pretends not to hear.

“Get off me!” the war hero cries, but the angle is awkward and Sophia too agile as he tries to use sheer muscle to push her away.

“Say Uncle!” she yells, giggling despite her attempt to be authoritative.

“No! What?”

“American thing. Uncle means you give up,” she says, pausing to stand above him imperiously. This is her undoing: Theseus seizes the opportunity to jump up, red-faced, and free himself of her vices.

“Excellent,” he says, fixing his now-rumpled clothes and catching his breath.

“Please agree with me,” Sophia begs, stepping in front of him as he tries to escape to the kitchen.

“I do not want to be involved in this deception,” he insists, then sighs when she continues to block his path, walking backwards and craning her neck to make eye contact.

He tries to shift her to the side. She resists, then reaches for his hand imploringly. “Please?”

“Sophia…”

She glowers. “Why are you being so _annoying?”_

“Has it occurred to you that I might care for your safety as well?” he asks sharply, and removes his hand from her grasp. Newt frowns, unable to decipher his brother’s unfamiliar tone of voice but slightly suspicious nonetheless.

“Fine, then I’ll just do it,” Sophia decides, “but if anyone gets mad I’ll lie and say you told me I could... you’re a war hero, you know, so what you say goes. Unlike that flaky magizoologist over there,” she adds accusatorily, jabbing a finger in Newt’s direction.

“That’ll do,” Newt interjects, pushing himself off the counter and coming over to them. “Sophia, you cannot come with us.”

“I can! I’m going to!”

“We won’t be long,” Newt promises.

“Liar.”

“I will stay here with you,” Theseus offers. She gives him a somewhat disparaging look. He rolls his eyes. “Very well. I am off to the manor, then,” he announces, “to get my _biscuit,”_ he starts to walk towards the door, “and no thanks to either of you.”

“You’re welcome!” Sophia calls after him as he leaves. Then she rounds on Newt. “Come on, big bro, _please?”_

Newt considers. The truth is, she’s clearly not going to give up. What’s the worst that can happen if she attempts to play dumb? If it’s from her, the Ollertons can hardly blame him for it. “One letter,” he says firmly. “And then we are done.”

Her face lights up. “I love you!” she cries, throwing her arms around his waist and squeezing while he stands there, resigned to his fate. “You’re gonna say it back one of these days, I _know_ it,” she says before letting go. “And now,” she says, standing on tiptoes to peck him on the cheek (he wipes off her kiss), “if you’ll excuse me, I have a _letter_ to write.”

* * *

Hi Mom,

Thanks for the permission! It’ll be ducky, and I’ll keep in touch, I swear. Newt and Tina will make sure I don’t get into any trouble.

Love you,

Sophia

* * *

_Week 6, Thursday_

Dear Mr. Scamander,

Has Sophia lost her eyesight, or a chunk of her brain? Or is she simply trying to play dumb under the incorrect assumption that anybody else will buy it? Either way, the answer is a solid no. I appreciate her arguments, but no.

Regards,

Emilia Ollerton

* * *

_Week 6, Friday_

Elsie is at her wit’s end by Friday evening. As a result, she decides to have a drink with her sons and… she would almost _like_ to say their respective girlfriends. However, Sophia and Theseus are just pals — a good thing, too. (They do spend an awful lot of time together, though.) Between Sophia and Tina, Elsie wonders how on earth they never tire of her sons’ presences.

Nobody gets particularly _drunk_ — Theseus could have five beers and probably still be fine, while they stop Sophia before she's consumed a quarter — but they're admittedly in varying states of relaxed. Elsie has to say, it _is_ rather endearing to watch her youngest son’s ears flush, his laugh get louder, and his smile broader as he becomes much more physically affectionate with Tina around the fire.

Witnessing her Newt gain confidence and comfort in a relationship has been a gift in and of itself. As a mother, her children come first: their happiness has always been paramount. Newt has never been an unhappy person, nor an emotionally volatile one, but something was lacking. If Sophia is to be believed — and she is — Newt has come a long way even in the past month as he continues to wade his way through his love life.

More than that is the fact that he’s proving to be even more sensitive than she once believed. While this is a painful reality as someone who is happy only when her children are, she does appreciate the fact that for once in his life, he’s learning to deal with adversity. Theseus has been to hell and back; she doesn’t know Tina’s story yet, but keen motherly instincts tell her that childhood, at least, was no easy road; whereas Newt has, up until this point, faced very few struggles — emotional, mental, or physical.

He also cares about Tina a great deal, which she truly believes has inspired him to change. So has Sophia, though her silly little boy will never admit to it. Their dynamic really is amusing to observe: Elsie is simultaneously grateful that she never raised Sophia, and saddened that Newt — who clearly enjoys and benefits from their relationship — didn’t discover the young woman until now.

All things considered, in spite of the dark shroud threatening to descend, some good has come of their time here. Her son has continued to grow on his home turf, and Tina has found a home. It’s because of this simple fact that, rather than feeling uncomfortable watching her son with his hands all over his girlfriend, she’s moved by it.

More endearing still is the fact that he’s not, as Sophia now says, _snogging_ Tina or making a grand spectacle of themselves (unlike their infamous water fight). Instead, his amplified physical affection shows as he keeps a hand on the small of her back when they leave the room, slides over so their knees are touching whenever they sit, pulls her into a hug and notches his chin over her head when she’s tired, reaches for her hand when they talk, and fiddles absentmindedly with the cuff of her blouse when he has his arm around her. In short, he loves his girlfriend in the most innocent, most achingly pure ways. 

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Sophia says later. Elsie had excused herself to go sit on the patio, rocking in the creaky white porch chair and gazing across the water. She’d left Theseus and Sophia to their own devices — they’re thick as thieves nowadays, those two — and Newt and Tina are still on the beach. She can make out the glow of the fire, the flash of auburn hair, and hear laughter every so often, but otherwise it’s entirely silent until Sophia joins her.

“What is?” Elsie asks as the young woman comes to sit on the stool beside her.

“Newt and Tina.”

Elsie smiles. “I never imagined he would find someone like her.”

“She’s a good one, dontcha think?”

Elsie nods. “I wholly approve.”

“Yeah,” Sophia says fondly; she sounds quite as if _she’s_ Newt’s mother. “I like her. Ya know, they both have stuff to deal with, but he loves her and that’s enough to help her process what happened in her past. And her love for him is what makes him a better, stronger person — more confident. He wants to be good for her. In the end, that’s what’s really gonna make the relationship strong. I mean, it already does.”

Elsie doesn’t know what to say when Sophia goes on these frank, insightful and entirely correct discourses about her son. Instead, she nods her agreement and says knowingly, “So, tell me about Nelson.”

Even in the darkness, she sees Sophia blush. “He’s fine,” the 20-year-old mutters, uncharacteristically awkward.

“Have you still been sending letters?”

Sophia looks at her in surprise.

“I do see the mail, you know,” Elsie says in amusement. “It would not escape my notice that an owl is consistently flying onto the island from New York. And Newt may have complained to me at some point.”

Sophia rolls her eyes. “Yeah, Nelson’s nice. I thought he was kinda stupid at first, but he’s actually got a lot to say. He’s just used to his brother always stealing the spotlight and nobody listening to him talk. But he’s started to open up to me.”

Elsie quirks an eyebrow. “Has he now?”

“Oh, stop it,” Sophia says defensively. “I don’t like him. Not like that.” She frowns. “I don’t think I’ve ever really _liked_ a boy.”

“Well,” Elsie says, and gets to her feet after checking her watch and realizing that it’s nearly midnight, “perhaps it’s about time.”

Newt, she is sure, would heartily disagree. Regardless, she has to suppress a little smirk as she makes her way to the door and glimpses a telling smile spread across Sophia’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Elsie reflections can seem rambly (they aren't integral to the plot, so feel free to skim or skip), but for the sake of character reflection and development, I think her POV is very important in exploring Newt's character and evolution! Just as Queenie's will be regarding Tina when she and the squad are eventually reunited :)


	66. And all the world is filled with love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Newt visits his old professor, and goodbyes are said.
> 
> “The ones who love us never really leave us,” Dumbledore says sagely. “The innocent people who have died have made a great sacrifice, and thus it is our responsibility to ensure their deaths were not in vain.”
> 
> “So you can’t do anything?”
> 
> “Beyond words of comfort and understanding, I fear I am unable to satisfy your request. I do have those biscuits you were quite fond of in your second year.” Newt shakes his head politely. “Tastes change,” Dumbledore allows with a tinge of wistfulness, waving his wand and Vanishing the tray of sweets.
> 
> Chapter title from “When My Baby Smiles at Me” by Ted Lewis and Andrew B. Sterling (1920)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was so pumped to bring Dumbledore back in! RIP <3 (although it's always incredibly stressful trying to catch the essence of such a classic character. Hopefully I did him justice.)
> 
> He got very verbose (I tried to cut it down) when he responds to Newt's burning question, but for the sake of closure and my love for all of these characters, I did want to provide an answer.
> 
> Also, he totally ships Newtina.

_Week 6, Saturday_

By Saturday, discontent is still proliferating across the town. The council has closed off the island to visitors, and Tina and Newt are leaving tomorrow, but Ignotus Pembroke still isn’t pleased. However, when he tries to drop in and is met by a stony-faced Newt, he quickly retreats.

“I’m pretty sure you scared him off,” Sophia informs Newt after the unwelcome intrusion.

“I would have punched him,” Newt states matter-of-factly.

Tina glances over at him in partial amusement from where she and Theseus are poring over an ancient encyclopedia. “I’m glad you didn’t.”

Newt flings himself against the couch with a sigh. “I still can’t believe —”

“We are NOT having this conversation again,” Sophia says firmly, before he can complain for the umpteenth time about Ignotus’s disparaging comments. “We all know he’s a prat.”

Newt shuts up with a resentful look.

Having finally accepted her fate regarding Territory of New Guinea, Sophia has spent the past few days with Theseus. They’re trying to shed further light on the “Mordechai” business, which yields very poor results. Every conversation seems to go about the same; neither of them have any brilliant ideas and inevitably end up splashing around in the water, throwing a ball back and forth, raiding the kitchen, or amicably sitting on the guest house’s back porch doing nothing.

Sophia is dangling upside-down off the porch swinging chair as she absentmindedly reads an old Transfiguration book she found in one of the bookcases. She’s wearing knickers over her swimsuit today — Newt still speaks hopefully of Vanishing that bloody piece of _cloth_ and forcing her to wear a potato sack for the rest of her life — with her knees hooked over the back of the chair. Theseus sits properly next to Sophia, occasionally grabbing her ankles before she can slide off the chair and break her neck. Elsie makes one obligatory attempt to tell the young woman not to be so unsafe before trusting that either Theseus would prevent tragedy or Sophia’s bones turn out to be made of rubber and therefore immune to breakage.

“I’m bored,” she complains presently, shutting the book and chucking it onto Theseus’s lap. Then, after a few tries, she yanks herself back into a sitting position and nearly collapses as the blood rushes back to her body.

“Careful,” Theseus says in amusement, catching her before she can keel over. “And that is why we _don’t_ dangle off of porch equipment upside-down.”

“No, that’s why we keep diligent, altruistic _war_ heroes around,” Sophia counters.

“Touché,” Theseus replies. “I believe we are all bored.” He pauses. “Are you going to stay here indefinitely, then?”

She shrugs. “Guess so. I don’t really have a reason to go back, although I really miss Queenie and Jacob. You’d like Queenie, she’s a Legilimens and she’s beautiful.”

“There are a great many beautiful people in this world,” Theseus points out mildly.

“Yeah, maybe. But she’s like, a choice piece of calico.”

He doesn’t know the slang, but it isn’t difficult to surmise. “Either way.”

“I guess you just complimented me, sorta,” Sophia says cheerfully. “Thanks, bro.”

She still hasn’t forgotten that strange conversation over lunch, when he said that her smile is beautiful. It made her feel a lot better than it probably should. Not that she cares about his opinion over anybody else’s, but naturally she has a great deal of respect for someone who’s been so kind and welcoming.

She _does_ dislike the segregation that seems to have occurred between Newt and Tina and her and Theseus. That being said, the four of them still spend an untoward amount of time together, living in such close quarters, and it's mostly during the days that they break off into couples.

Well, not _couples._ She and Theseus aren’t a couple. They’re just friends. He’s the brother of her brother, so.

She really needs to pull it together.

Theseus, oblivious to her inner turmoil, pats Sophia on the head, then stands up, causing the bench to oscillate violently at the loss of his weight; she has to grab his arm to avoid being catapulted over the railing.

“What are Newt and Tina doing?” she inquires as she follows him back inside.

Theseus shrugs. “What are they ever doing?”

“Falling in love,” Sophia smirks.

“Which is possibly the strongest weapon we have today,” Theseus points out sternly. “Do not mock them.”

Sophia, unsurprisingly, doesn’t listen.

* * *

Dear Teenie,

Jacob thought of something today! We were talking about the Mordechai thing and he said he knows something about the name.

You know me and you never celebrated the Jewish holidays on account of being orphans and nobody else raising us Jewish. Jacob ain’t Jewish but he had Polish friends who were and when he was younger they celebrated the festival of Purim and they read this story every year.

The story of Purim is all about salvation from this fellow Haman’s plot to destroy and kill the Jews in a single day. Real uplifting, I know. It almost sounds like Grindelwald... anyways, Mordechai is the guy who stops it all.

The religion might not have to do with the name other than the fact that it’s Hebrew, ‘cause I don’t think Lucille’s Jewish, but any information is helpful, right?

We miss you a lot here. Madam Picquery came by the other day to see how we was doing. I think she’s gotten fond of Jacob and wants to make sure he’s okay.

Give Newt and Sophie a hug for me, would you?

Love,

Queenie

* * *

Dear Queenie,

Thank you. We’ll keep it in mind. To be honest, Sophia and Theseus have taken it upon themselves to be the investigative team. I’m letting them.

Glad to hear that Jacob is doing okay, and I knew Madam Picquery would have a soft spot for him! Do you think she’ll let you marry, or is that too optimistic?

We’re all getting ready for departure. I really hate to leave Sophia and Theseus behind, but at least they’ll take good care of each other. I’m starting to suspect there’s something going on with them. If you were here I’m sure you could tell. Probably not, though. Soph likes Nelson and Theseus is like her brother.

We will write from Territory of New Guinea as soon as we can.

Love,

Tina

* * *

Meanwhile, Newt finally puts his mind to a task which he’s been seriously debating for weeks now. He figures it couldn’t hurt, and he isn’t nearly as concerned for his safety as Tina’s. Plus, if Scamander Island is the safest place to be, Hogwarts is a close second.

Tina wants to come with him, of course, but he reluctantly turns her down. This is something he must do alone. Truth be told, he’s also genuinely concerned about bringing her off of the island any earlier than necessary. She lets it go, casting him a few worried glances as he heads out the door.

He lands on the Hogwarts grounds at around eight o’clock in the evening. The Transfiguration department is on the first floor, and given that there aren’t too many students milling around (O.W.L.’s and N.E.W.T.’s are fast approaching, so the sixth and seventh years are no doubt living in the library and their rooms), Newt doesn't bother trying to be sneaky and instead walks right into Dumbledore's office, entirely unannounced.

“Newton,” Dumbledore greets him, unfazed, as though they had a prearranged appointment. He’s sitting behind his desk, scribbling away on a piece of parchment, and places the quill down to look warmly at Newt through his spectacles.

“Hello,” Newt says a bit awkwardly. He stands up — he really must stop landing on people’s carpets — and sits when Dumbledore motions to the chair opposite his desk.

The professor watches him keenly for an uncomfortable moment, steepling his fingertips. Then he says, “If it was not so trite, I might comment on the fact you’ve grown up, as children are wont to do these days.”

“That is true,” Newt replies, not sure what else to say. Why did he come here again?

“So,” Dumbledore continues grandly, “I hear you are traveling to Territory of New Guinea.”

How on earth…? Newt learned long ago, however, never to question Dumbledore’s omniscience, and disregards the comment. “Yes, sir. I was thinking of contacting Francis Cinderford before I leave, to see if he might be willing to discuss my plans. We met at a book signing,” Newt explains. “He’s a magizoologist.”

“Ah, Francis,” Dumbledore says, smiling mildly. “He always was one of my favorite cousins.”

“You're related?” Newt asks in surprise.

“Indeed. An excellent man, very clever, although not too talented at cricket, I'm afraid… but then again, one cannot have it all.” He looks at Newt. “Unless they can,” he adds, a twinkle in his eye. “Hogwarts has recently been overrun with — ah — _Newties._ Humblest apologies, I do hope you were able to arrive surreptitiously.” Newt nods. “Good… as I recall, subtlety was never a particular strength of yours.”

Newt mumbles something at the floor.

“Now,” Dumbledore says kindly, folding his hands on the desk. “What brings you here? Fond memories, or something more serious?”

“Sir, it's… it's about Tina. Tina Goldstein,” he clarifies hastily. “She's —”

“Oh, I know Tina very well,” Dumbledore says casually, and Summons a platter of biscuits and candy. “Sweets?”

“I —” Newt says, startled.

“Yes,” Dumbledore says thoughtfully, popping a lemon sherbet drop into his mouth, “we’ve never spoken, of course, but after the events of last year, I suspect most people know her. Lovely young lady, always very polite to my dreadful half cousin at Ilvermorny. I had rather hoped she might accompany you, but alas.”

He gestures to the empty space beside Newt. Of course, Newt intends someday to bring her back to Hogwarts, as she plans to bring him to Ilvermorny. Given that Newt is something of an academic celebrity and Tina is an accomplished Auror (the best in the history of ever, in his opinion), it isn’t unlikely that an opportunity will present itself.

Dumbledore continues, “I had also rather hoped that she may have become Mrs. Scamander since we last spoke. Perhaps another day.” He sounds genuinely disappointed.

“Sir, I… I'm worried about her.”

“Oh?” Dumbledore looks at him keenly.

“Y-yes, it's just that she… sir, she's going to get herself killed.”

“Possibly,” the professor replies, seemingly unconcerned.

Newt gawks. “Professor Dumbledore —”

Dumbledore raises a hand and gestures vaguely. “Call me Albus. I daresay that 13 years is _quite_ long enough to have moved past formalities. You and I are equals now,” he states.

“Albus —”

“Chocolate frog?” he offers before Newt can finish his sentence. “I do believe they’ve updated some of the cards, which is a good thing too… the portraits have been moaning about their noses being drawn too large on the originals.”

“No — er, no thank you. Professor — Albus — I don't understand. You — you're just… fine, with people dying?”

“My dear boy, no!” Dumbledore says, looking aghast. “Not at all. No, what I mean is that your Miss Goldstein has made the conscious decision as an Auror to run the unfortunate risk of being killed. It is far from an ideal fate. And yet, what can we do?”

“I was… I was hoping you might have a solution.”

The professor softens. “I'm afraid that no one can be safe in times such as these, and in interfering you may very well risk _worsening_ the situation.” He scrutinizes Newt for a moment, then states, “You love Tina.”

Newt’s throat feels dry. “Yes.”

“Perhaps that is the best you can do,” Dumbledore says gently. “I cannot cast some spell to ease the terrible pain of those who cannot guarantee the safety of their loved ones, of which there are many and will continue to be. But I have always said — and people have always dismissed — that _love_ can conquer all evil.”

Newt flashes back to when Tina was cursed. It feels like years ago. Queenie’s love had saved her; Hugh Fenwick had not made it. Was it for lack of love? “But, sir —”

The small smile on Dumbledore’s face very clearly indicates that he knows what’s coming. “Then how come so many loved people die?”

“Well, yes.”

“The ones who love us never really leave us,” Dumbledore says sagely. “The innocent people who have died have made a great sacrifice, and thus it is our responsibility to ensure their deaths were not in vain.”

“So you can’t do anything?”

“Beyond words of comfort and understanding, I fear I am unable to satisfy your request. I do have those biscuits you were quite fond of in your second year.” Newt shakes his head politely. “Tastes change,” Dumbledore allows with a tinge of wistfulness, waving his wand and Vanishing the tray of sweets. Then he eyes Newt keenly again and continues,

“You do not strike me as careless, despite what others may think. Neither do you strike me as any more weak or fumbling than the average sharp-minded, soft-spoken magizoologist. You are a strong and courageous young man, Newton. Love Tina with great purpose, and there is a chance that such an act of love will one day come through.”

“You mean to say that if I _love_ her, ‘with great purpose,’ she might be… immune?” he asks hopefully.

“It is not so simple,” Dumbledore sighs. “Immunity is a fool’s errand. But love never hurt a soul, and although I have very little insight into the intricate inner workings of Gellert and this Lucille, I would guess that love may be a good place to begin when it comes to, ah, saving the world.”

“You think we can — can really do that, sir? Albus?”

“I think that anybody can, if they only put their mind to it.” The corner of his mouth quirks. “In a similar vein, Sophia Ollerton and Theseus are both invaluable allies. I might suggest that you make it a point to interact with them as well as your fiancée.”

“Girlfriend,” Newt corrects.

“I much prefer the term ‘fiancée,’” Dumbledore replies calmly.

“Right,” Newt says, standing up, “thank you for your time. I… I’ll follow your advice to the best of my ability.”

“Excellent,” Dumbledore responds, also rising and giving Newt a firm handshake. “I’m sure this will not be the last we meet. It may, however, be quite some time before we do, and in that case I should hope you will achieve the ever-evasive, precarious balance between caution and courage.

“Remember, happiness can be found, even in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light.” He gives one more encouraging nod and takes a seat.

However, something has been gnawing at Newt. He hesitates, but knows that if he doesn't ask now, it will bother him forever. “Albus, last year, Mr. Graves — Grindelwald — asked what made you so fond of me.”

Dumbledore looks up. “Oh? What did you say?”

“‘I really couldn't say.’”

Dumbledore smiles. “Precisely.”

Newt blinks. “Sorry, what?”

“You have always been an unassuming young man. Although I — and most of the faculty — was aware of your family’s wealth, you gave nary a hint that you came from such prestige. Theseus, of course, was much the same, but he could often come across as overly confident. He was also instantly popular.

“You were exceptionally modest and kind in a way that many boys only learn when they are humbled by failure later in life. I know you took the blame,” Dumbledore says, and Newt can hardly be surprised. “That, in and of itself, is the mark of somebody who wholeheartedly deserves a second chance.

“We _are_ only human, and though we would like to think that perfection is attainable, we will always be given to mistake-making. The magnitude of your alleged transgression was rather more extreme than the typical Hogwarts student. Nonetheless, all parties emerged from the incident unscathed, did they not?” Newt nods.

Satisfied, Dumbledore concludes, “I saw no reason why an independent event of that nature should result in the permanent expulsion of a young man whose inherent intellect and integrity were so woefully rare in his peer group. Next to love, knowledge is one of the more powerful tools in life. To be denied an education at such a ripe age is unwarranted and inappropriate at best.”

He pauses, looking amused, wry, and nostalgic in equal measure. “And I must admit, I had grown quite accustomed to your presence in my office. It provided an excellent excuse to avoid grading some truly abysmal Transfiguration papers, as well as to eat substantially more sweets than might otherwise be advisable.”

Newt doesn’t think he’s ever heard the professor talk so much. Unsure what to say — he still isn’t the best when it comes to accepting compliments — he manages to stammer a “thank you” and offers a warm, genuine smile. “I will never be able to express my gratitude,” he says earnestly, collecting himself, “for your support and your words. But, erm... I thank you.”

Dumbledore inclines his head somewhat regally. “You are always welcome, Newton. Now. As I believe Seraphina Picquery is quite fond of saying... get out of my office.”

Of _course_ Dumbledore knows about his relationship to the President’s office. Newt gives one last awkward smile-nod-wave hybrid and Disapparates with a crack.

* * *

_Week 6, Sunday_

They’re up bright and early Sunday morning to wait for _The Wayfinder._ A fair number of villagers don't hate them, and a fair number are eager to see them leave, and so most of the island comes to bade them farewell (save for the Pembrokes, thankfully).

Men, women, and children alike approach Tina and Newt — some reluctantly, some sincerely, some cautiously — to wish them good luck. Newt tries to ignore the stark realization that this could be the last time he sees Scamander Island like this: people milling around, chatting, laughing, and alive. Catching Tina’s eye, he can tell she feels the same.

Sophia has attracted her usual ring of young men — much as Newt loves his “sister,” he fails to understand exactly why they’re so enamored with her — and Theseus disappears in a sea of women. Eventually, Sophia extracts herself from the group (rolling her eyes at Newt) and rudely yanks Theseus away from his as well. He doesn’t seem to mind.

Blue sparks go off on the horizon: a ten-minute warning. Newt, Tina, Theseus, and Sophia find one another and say final farewells to lingering villagers. Paulina clasps Tina’s hands in her own as she tearfully wishes her all the best and asks her to return to the island soon. Carter attempts to hug Sophia goodbye; both Newt and Theseus glare at the young man as she awkwardly twists out of his grasp and join her friends.

“What was _that_ for?” Newt asks indignantly, referring to the embrace.

She shrugs. “I might’ve mentioned that I like hugs, but I didn’t mean with _them.”_

“How on earth would that topic of conversation ever arise?” Theseus says, frowning.

“I was talking about how I’m short, so like... I always have to hug under, ‘cause I can’t reach my arms around the other person’s neck,” Sophia explains as they near the water’s edge. “But then I said I like hugging anyway, except I’ll hit anyone who tries to pick me up without my permission. And then I said I’m a good hugger. So, um... I guess that coulda been taken as invitation to hug me.”

“You _are_ very short,” Newt points out.

“Yes, but I’m still a very good hugger,” she argues.

“I’ve never met anyone as short as you, so I hardly have a basis of comparison,” Newt replies.

“Children,” Theseus says idly, before a tiff breaks out. Both dutifully fall silent.

They all congregate on the shore. Elsie joins them a few minutes later, wrapping an arm around Sophia and kissing her on the head. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” she says, knowing how painful it is for Sophia to be left behind.

“Well,” Newt says, turning to his family. “I suppose this is it. It’s been…”

“Oh, Newtie!” Elsie says with mingled emotion, and wraps her arms around her son. “Please be safe.”

“I will,” he promises.

“I love you,” she says, kissing him on the cheek and gripping his arms, just looking at him. “You’ve grown up.”

“That _is_ how this works,” Newt says dryly.

“Tina will take good care of you.”

He reaches for Tina’s hand and intertwines their fingers. “She will.”

“My baby boy…”

“Will be back soon,” Theseus cuts in firmly, before the mood gets too somber. “Goodbye, brother.” He gives Newt a brief, one-armed hug and claps him on the shoulder. “Take care.”

“I will,” Newt promises, for the umpteenth time.

Elsie turns to Tina now, and embraces her tightly. “I love you, sweetheart,” she says. Tina looks teary-eyed at this profession. “You will do a fine job. Everything will be alright.”

“Thank you, Elsie,” Tina responds gratefully.

Elsie seems on the verge of saying something, but decides against it and instead pats Tina on the cheek fondly. “We will meet again soon.”

Theseus gives Tina a hug as well. “Remember,” he says, winking, “tea and a biscuit. It solves all woes.”

Tina laughs, a watery laugh but a laugh nonetheless. “Thanks, Theseus.” He nods regally.

Sophia steps up to the plate now. She throws her arms around Tina, voice muffled as she says, “Don’t be stupid.”

Tina smiles. “I’ll try not to.”

“Oh, Teen,” Sophia sighs, pulling away. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too.”

“You’ll come back,” Sophia insists fiercely. “You will. It’ll be fine. Newt’ll keep you safe.”

Newt watches the exchange with a lump in his throat and a sudden surge of love for his girlfriend — for his _family,_ because that is what they’ve somehow become. “I will,” he pledges. Again.

Then Sophia pauses, turns towards Newt.

“I love you,” she says, squeezing his midriff. After a moment, he begrudgingly returns the gesture. “Please don’t do anything idiotic.”

“I would never,” he insists. Then he lets go and takes a step back. “I love you too,” he says, clear as day.

Sophia beams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to new readers/commenters! This has somehow become Fen's and my baby, so we're both really excited to see nice comments.
> 
> I haven't finished writing the boat scenes, so you still have a chance to be featured (as you or your OC) if you want. Read chapter 62 comments or message me on Tumblr @academla for information.
> 
> The next action sequence will be around chapter 70 or so. (Can you believe this is nearly 70 chapters? I get comments on like, chapter 7, and I'm like oh man you do not know what you're in for!)
> 
> Also, Newt being proud of Tina is the cutest thing ever. He's like, yeah bitch that's my girlfriend look how beautiful and smart she is oh and she's an Auror and she's gonna save the world so like... no biggie.
> 
> ETA: Finally fixed the Hogwarts Apparition thing. Everyone can relax.


	67. Now I have a grand ship on the ocean all mounted with silver and gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which nobody can really be surprised.
> 
> Chapter title from “The Prisoner’s Song” by Vernon Dalhart (1924)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My weak Sopheus heart couldn’t resist that ending, so have some legit Sopheus angst. If you don't ship it now, you will by the end of this fic, dammit! Also there is literally a Sopheus selfie somewhere out there. So. Let's just appreciate that fact for a moment.

The _Wayfinder_ doesn’t look exceptionally different from Muggle ocean liners, which is part of the regulation for construction of magical vessels: they're built with Muggle-safe protection and invisibility spells, but in the case that something should fail, it should have the appearance of any other ship on the sea. _(Wayfinder_ has been around for much longer than the Muggles’ more recent versions, of course.)

Boasting bright orange and blue accents, it's been magically expanded to hold as many as 5,000 passengers, creating the atmosphere of a miniature metropolis. The boat requires fewer crew — only about 500 — given that many functions of the Muggle counterpart are easily fulfilled by magic. There are also a few hundred house-elves onboard; Newt made certain to perform a background check of sorts beforehand to ensure that they're being treated humanely and given proper living quarters. They are, and in fact seem quite thrilled to be working with such an esteemed employer.

Newt and Tina get to travel first class, a luxury which Newt is accustomed to and Tina is not, and both feel equally uncomfortable. Newt dislikes potentially standing out too much — his fears of becoming snobby and taking any fame or money for granted persist — but Sophia convinced them. Seeing as he’s left her in the dust, the least he can do is listen to her this _once._

First class status means full access to the entire boat’s grandest features: lounges, smoking rooms, a multi-level first-class dining saloon topped with a luxurious dome skylight, a pool, and so many other areas for various activities and times of day that even Newt, who grew up in a manor, is overwhelmed. The interior of the ship is beautifully decorated as well, and the two main moving staircases are made of glistening, gorgeous oak. Although Newt doesn't generally give too much consideration to architecture, he has to admit, this is pretty damn impressive.

The bedroom is truly the cream of the crop. It has two queen beds (given the last minute notice, it was the only first class room left) with a kitchenette, separate bathroom touting immaculate porcelain amenities, and breathtaking view of the ocean through floor-to-ceiling windows. There's a nook on one end of the room, which turns out to lead into a picturesque veranda that can be covered easily with a heavy curtain. They're located on the bottom floor, close to level with the water, and all in all it really feels as though they're in some sort of small cottage on the edge of the sea.

“This is... really nice,” Tina says in awe when they enter and both freeze.

“It is,” Newt agrees.

They decide to waste no time enjoying the sights and relishing their time _alone_ together. Much as they both love Sophia, Theseus, and Elsie, it’s been difficult feeling somewhat chaperoned 24/7. Now, they’re actually on their own, a proper traveling couple, and Newt can't stop smiling.

Tina steps into the bathroom presently to swap out her slacks for a blue Kirsten-made frock — it's beginning to warm up, and lightweight dresses tend to be more comfortable than long pants — while Newt changes in the closet.

It's starting to bother him slightly that they're so modest with one another. Then again, despite a fair amount of _touching,_ he’s the only one of them who has been remotely exposed, and _that_ was when he was nearly mortally wounded by a hippogriff.

Truth be told, despite the fact that he's a relatively young male of the human species and as such is not exactly immune to technically inappropriate thoughts towards his girlfriend, small acts such as changing in front of one another aren't sexual in his mind. There’s a level of comfort and domesticity that he yearns for with Tina as much as physical intimacy — and which is already present in the way they can move around a kitchen together so fluidly, share the same bed every night, get in arguments about dirty dishes and clothes on the floor and who exactly let Sophia have coffee, and simply live together as partners.

He does still worry from time to time that he’ll love her a bit too much, that he’ll let it take over, but since his talk with Theseus he’s mostly improved — on that count _and_ when it comes to feeling secure in Tina’s feelings for him. He and Tina have been a team from the start; a relationship for them is nothing more than a deepened connection between two already-compatible teammates. And although he has his own doubts and moments when he can't quite read her expression or she seems to shut down on him, he believes that she's beginning to trust and understand him too.

Having realized by now that Tina has a certain level of immense appreciation for him dressing more casually, Newt makes a point of it to look just slightly rumpled, changing into a work shirt and unbuttoning it at the top. Personally, he thinks his girlfriend is extraordinarily attractive no matter what she wears. It's her smile and laugh and the warmth in her eyes that spell out _beauty_ to him.

He rolls up his sleeves (he’s never been a fan of his scars, but Tina enjoys running her fingers over his wrists and gripping the muscles of his forearms to pull him closer, and he's hardly in a position to complain) and steps out.

As anticipated, Tina presses her lips together and raises an eyebrow when he emerges. “Hello,” he says, kissing her on the cheek.

“Why do you have to?” she groans, gesturing to his outfit.

He feigns innocence. “Hmm?”

“You're terrible,” she sighs.

“You like me very much,” he points out.

She leans in and kisses him, then stands a moment with her arms resting lightly on his shoulders. “I don't know why,” she answers, flashing a dimple. _Me neither, sometimes._ He holds out his hand.

“Shall we?”

Tina nods and puts her sun hat on. Together they head to the upper deck, where there's a fancy cafe and lounging areas. Newt buys them some cool drinks and they find a bench a little out of the way of the crowd where they can hear one another over the clamor of the other passengers.

Somehow, their conversations often lead to the topic of Sophia. Newt recalls how one of his tour guides had laughed at the fact that once he and his wife had kids, even their most romantic dates were spent discussing the children. This would seem to be the case, even if that child is a 20-year-old firecracker.

They've been relaxing for barely an hour when an announcement is broadcast across the ship, asking Newt and Tina Scamander to please come to the top deck’s captain’s quarters promptly, as an urgent matter has arisen and requires immediate attention.

Exchanging worried looks — in this current climate, "urgent" could mean anything from misplaced item to a raid on Scamander Island — Newt and Tina race up the stairs and follow signs to the hallway marked off as Administrative Offices. They have no idea where to go, but thankfully an official-looking man approaches them and, after confirming their identity, gestures for them to follow him. They stop before an office labeled Security, at which point the man inclines his head with an amused little smile, and opens the door for them.

The room is rather dimly lit, filled with a tall-backed plush chair and an unamused woman in uniform on the other side of the desk. She looks utterly done as the other occupant chatters away indignantly.  

“...just like Seraphina except a lot less relaxed, _you_ probably don't do shots with your workers… what are you really gonna do with me _now,_ honestly —”

“Oh, Mercy,” Tina groans, looking helplessly at Newt.

Newt stops still, unsure how to react to this situation. The woman behind the desk gives them a small, sarcastic wave, and gestures to the chair.

Right on cue, Sophia turns around, pokes her head out, and beams at Newt. “Hello!” she says cheerfully.

* * *

Ten minutes of mingled apologies to the crew and threats to Sophia later, they’re all released. Newt steers her straight into his and Tina's room, locking the door firmly behind him.

“Sit,” he says.

“Two beds?” Sophia asks, wrinkling up her nose. Then she brightens. “Am I sleeping with you guys too?”

Newt is horrified. “Absolutely not!”

“Oh. Just wondering. So,” she says, trying to get up, “good talk. How's the —”

“Sit!” Newt barks. He sits on the bed across from her.

“Yikes,” she says good naturedly, but remains seated.

Newt is torn between admiration and despair. “Did Theseus help you?” he asks wearily.

“Um… maybe. Sorta. He didn't know until after you left,” she explains.

“What am I supposed to do now?”

“Introduce me to your friends?" She pauses, delighted, and snorts. "Oh my god, are there any Newties on the boat?”

He gawks at her audacity — which has never been in short supply, so why on earth he would expect less of it now is beyond him. “You cannot possibly be serious.”

She swings her legs back and forth and puffs out a breath. “Okay, well, you're not gonna get in trouble, if that's what you're worried about.”

“If that's what I'm — Sophia, you stowed away on a magical ocean liner en route to a continent thousands of miles from our — _your_ home, on which I will be pursuing some of the most lethal creatures on earth! It took quite a lot of convincing in the first place to gain passage so last minute, and let us not forget the fact that your parents very adamantly expressed their _extreme_ displeasure at the prospect of you doing _exactly_ what you have just done!”

“I can deal with ‘em,” Sophia says offhandedly. “Besides, Theseus is the real one who aided and abetted me. And Mom’s the one who didn't keep me on the island in the first place.”

Newt shakes his head disbelievingly. “You will apologize,” he says weakly.

“To who? The crew? They’re a real whoopee, seriously — it took forever for them to decide what to _do_ with me... ‘course, they thought I was a Hogwarts runaway at first. Anyway, the security lady was a wet blanket, but I had a swell time with the others before I told ‘em to go get the Scamanders.” She smirks. “You’re welcome for that, by the way.”

“That is — that is beside the point,” Newt splutters. Tina didn’t react when she was called “Tina Scamander,” but then again they were relatively certain somebody had died or something equally grave had happened and it was such a small thing she probably didn't notice it anyway.

Sophia blows a strand of hair out of her face and then stretches, yawning. “So do I get to be in first class, then?”

Newt sometimes wonders how on earth he thought his niffler was a pain in the arse to deal with. His niffler was child’s play compared to dealing with the likes of Sophia. At least it didn’t have a mouth like hers, or a wand, or an obnoxiously close connection to the rest of his family. “We will get you a different room,” he says firmly.

“You don’t have to, I can sleep in here… or, better _yet,_ put me in with the regular folk and maybe I’ll meet some guys…”

He knows she does that just to irk him. He _knows_ it. Still, he can’t help but make a mental note to ask one of the crew members if, for a handsome fee, they might make sure Sophia doesn’t bring any men into her room.

* * *

“Theseus!” Elsie admonishes furiously when she discovers Sophia missing.

“I am sorry,” and he really is. More so by the minute. “It was a terrific opportunity for her! You know as well as I that she would not have been happy waiting here” _— (with me) —_ “and Newt and Tina will look after her.” _They’d better._

“A terrific opportunity for her to get herself killed, you mean!” Elsie says shrilly.

Theseus freezes. Although he knows his mum said it out of fear, stress, and for dramatic effect, the mere thought of Sophia having gone off on a bloody boat and never coming back… oh god. Oh, bollocks. He’s gone and done it now, hasn’t he.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Elsie says quickly, her eyebrows knitting together in concern upon seeing his face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean — I just want to keep her safe, that’s all.”

“And you think I don’t?” He shouldn’t be angry; he really shouldn’t. He usually isn’t. But Elsie has unintentionally struck a nerve, and now all he can think about is the war, and watching the love of his life hit the ground, breath stolen by the tang of hatred and pain, long before it was time…

“Theseus!” his mother says sharply, shaking him, and he realizes abruptly that he’s crying. Not consciously or openly, but his cheeks are wet and he's shaking slightly.

“Sorry,” he apologizes thickly. “It is — I am a fool. I should not have allowed her to leave, I…”

“No, no, darling,” Elsie says soothingly, wrapping her arms around him, “no, she will be fine, I am sure of it. I know how much you care about her.”

_Do you? Do you really?_

Elsie rubs his back soothingly. “I know you and Newt _both_ care about her, tremendously. She’s practically a Scamander now. She will come back to us.”

“I sincerely hope so,” Theseus responds. _Or Newton will have hell to pay._

Elsie pauses, looking amused. “Perhaps she’ll return with a sweetheart. I daresay it’s about time for that beautiful young lady to find someone. She did mention Nelson, of course, but he seems terribly far away... oh no,” she says, misreading Theseus’s expression, “it isn’t that I care about your prospects any less! Dear, if you were to find a woman today, I would be —”

“I’ll be right back,” Theseus mutters, and slams the door behind him.

* * *

His room feels strangely empty without Sophia. She never _slept_ in here, of course, but they’d stayed up nearly every night since the ball, chatting and playing games and reading old books out loud in overly dramatic voices, seeing who would break character first. She brought such liveliness to his life in those moments: she was the adventurer, he the reluctant but agreeable follower.

One evening, they spent an hour inventing a card game and writing down the rules. It was stupid, really, and something that he never would've thought of. But Sophia suggested the idea, and he went along — would always go along. He will always go crashing into the water with her, make sarcastic asides at formal dinners, and take her wherever she wants, wherever her face will light up and she’ll laugh and run in circles and be _alive._

Including Territory of New Guinea.

That, he realizes, is the reason that he let her go. Because as desperate as he is to keep her safe, he wants to see her happy. He wants her to go adventure and enjoy all that life has to offer her.

He really needs to get it together.

She's a friend. His _best_ friend (surprisingly), perhaps, but _only_ a friend. His brother’s honorary sister. She’s far too young, and, as Elsie pointed out, quite beautiful. A part of him is still nursing a broken heart. And she deserves someone her age, youthful and unmarred by hardship.

Still, Theseus goes to his dresser and rifles through a pile of paper until he finds what he's looking for. A few nights ago, when snooping around the manor, the two of them had stumbled upon an old camera that miraculously still had film in it. Naturally, Sophia insisted on a (blurry) photoshoot of the island. She dragged Theseus into one shot despite his protests, giggling contagiously with her arm around his neck as she blindly pointed the camera towards their faces. The shutter clicked, and somehow, magically, she’d captured the moment.

He gazes down at it now, two little moving replicas laughing together against the backdrop of the beach he grew up on. It will have to be enough. That one snapshot, that reminder, will have to be enough. After all, even if — _when,_ he reminds himself sternly — she returns, she won't stay here forever. And neither will he.

Theseus withdraws his wallet, folds the photograph neatly in half, and slides it inside. Then he sits on the edge of his bed, leaning forward on his elbows, and turns the wallet over and over thoughtfully in his hands.

After a few minutes of aimlessly staring into space and staining his fingertips with the black leather, he shakes his head and gets to his feet with a grunt. Enough is enough. Plus, he has a concerned mum to apologize to.

Theseus opens the door and makes his way through the maze of the manor. His wallet is carefully tucked into his pocket — and there it will stay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 69 will contain all the OC submissions I've received so far. I'll still accept submissions for use in future chapters. Once the squad arrives there will be opportunities for one or two filler chapters, although once the next big event happens it's gonna be pretty cray cray from there. It's looking like chapter 70 will be a Big Event, 71 will be the fallout of it, a couple "calm before the storm" chapters perhaps, and then the real hardcore stuff begins. No rest for the wicked!
> 
> If there are specific headcanons you would like to see play out here, feel free to submit them via the comments, messaging me on tumblr @academla, or emailing me at ecb327@gmail.com and I'll see if I can incorporate it for you.
> 
> P.S. 221b_ee was a really great reader who hasn't commented in awhile! Hope everything is ok <3


	68. Intermission, Part IX: The Wayfinder & New Guinea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Research I did for the magical ocean liner and New Guinea. In case y'all were wondering how much time I've invested into this ridiculous fic.

**The Wayfinder**

Some notes on how I set up the magical ocean liner and determined the duration of their trip.

The basic distance between England and Papua New Guinea (of course there is a margin of error) is about 8,687 miles.

In 1909, the _Mauretania,_ a trans-Atlantic ocean liner (so, not applicable to our cast’s particular journey) that was the world’s largest ship until 1911 and the fastest until 1929, was able to travel 26.06 knots, which is 30 miles per hour. In 1928 (I know, I know, a year later), she was also modernized with a new interior design. This design involved smoking rooms, dining saloons, a first-class lounge, and so on. Very posh indeed.

Here’s a summary of my actual main point:

  * 1909: can travel 26.06 knots/30 mph
  * 1928: modernized with new interior design



Going back to the actual passage, at a rate of 30 mph, it would take 290 hours, or 12 days, to arrive. Being impatient, and because we’re talking _wizards_ here, I cut that in half to conclude a 6-day trip. Voila!

She originally held 563 first class, 464 second, and 1,138 third and steerage passengers (total of 2,165, so I roughly doubled it), with a crew of 812. If you know me you’ll know that I’m positively terrible at estimating numbers, but I Googled and the town next to mine has a population of 5,000 people, so basically it’s my entire neighboring town all on one magical ocean liner.

As I mentioned, her interior was incredibly fancy, so imagine that same level of fanciness on the _Wayfinder._ Here’s an excerpt from Wikipedia:

 _The ship's interior was designed by Harold Peto, architect, and her public rooms were fitted out by two notable London design houses – Ch. Mellier & Sons and Turner and Lord, with twenty-eight different types of wood, along with marble, tapestries, and other furnishings such as the stunning octagon table in the smoking room. Wood panelling for her first class public rooms was supposedly carved by three hundred craftsmen from Palestine but this seems unlikely, unnecessary and was probably executed by the yard or subcontracted, as were the majority of the second and third class areas. The multi-level first-class dining saloon of straw oak was decorated in Francis I style and topped by a large dome skylight. A series of elevators, a rare new feature for liners, with grilles composed of the relatively new lightweight aluminum, were installed next to Mauretania_ _'s walnut grand staircase. A new feature was the Verandah Café on the boat deck, where passengers were served beverages in a weather-protected environment, although this was enclosed within a year as it proved unrealistic._

Also, "Wayfinding" is one of my mom's projects (she's a photographer) featuring yours truly. You can check it out [here](http://www.bremnerbenedict.com/wayfinding.html).

* * *

**Territory of New Guinea — History**

Alright, for those of you who are interested in  _ this _ part of my research, which doesn’t crop up all that much but which I did nonetheless, here’s a bit about Papua New Guinea in the 1920s.

In 1920, the Commonwealth of Australia assumed a mandate from the [ League of Nations](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/League_of_Nations) for governing the former German territory of New Guinea. This meant that the territory of  _ German New Guinea  _ was transferred from Germany to Australia (because the Treaty of Versailles told them to). 

This act officially established New Guinea as a “League of Nations Mandated Territory” to be administered by Australia. It remained in effect until 1949, when New Guinea  _ merged _ with Papua per the “Papua and New Guinea act.” However, for the purposes of Australian nationality, the two territories were still separate and thus the name didn’t change. It wasn’t until 1975 that the actual Territory of Papua New Guinea was dissolved and renamed Papua New Guinea.

So, it was not actually called Papua New Guinea until like 50 years after the squad minus Theseus visits there. Hence, in the 1920s it would have been called  _ Territory of New Guinea. _

Timeline summary:

1920: territory of German New Guinea transferred to Australia

1949: Papua and New Guinea act merged Territory of Papua and Territory of New Guinea but still established a distinction

1975: renamed Papua New Guinea

It’s pretty straightforward, but interesting and good to know for the sake of context. (Or not.)

* * *

**Territory of New Guinea — Ecology  
**

Now let’s consider the climate. It’s known that lethifolds thrive in the tropics, which is what Papua New Guinea is considered. The temperature ranges from 23 to 28 degrees Celsius, or 73 to 82 degrees Fahrenheit. Its humidity ranges from 70 to 90 percent.

Generally speaking, there are two seasons: June to September, the dry season; and December to March, the rainy season. During the rainy season, typhoons can cause heavy damage, flooding, and erosion. The west and north areas of the country receive the most precipitation.

And now for ecology, because that’s very important as well.

Rivers host crocodiles, freshwater sharks, barramundi, and hundreds of other fish species; the Sepik River flows through PNG. Forests stretch from the lowest altitudes to altitudes beyond 3,000 meters or 9,843 feet and contain enormous variety in species depending on location. 

On the southern coast, there are savannas and grasslands. Savannas are apparently similar to the landscapes of northern Australia. These areas experience less than 2,600 millimeters or 102 inches annually. During the dry season, it gets less than 4 inches a month.

Littoral forests are distributed along the sandy beaches and adjacent plains of the southeast and southwest coasts. They feature common canopy trees such as the Burmese rosewood (also known as narra or angsans) and the paper bark or punk tree. In the southwest, acacia palms are common on the ground-layer and in lower tree layers.

Swamp forests are associated with some of the largest rivers, such as the Sepik, the Fly, the Strickland, the Mamberamo and the Purari. Sago trees, found close to these forests, provide the staple starch for many people.

Lastly, there are heathlands. Heath is found on poor soils in both highland and lowland New Guinea. In the lowlands, the vegetation grows on infertile soil of a sandy type. In the subalpine and alpine heaths, infertile soils support shrubs and meadows.

I chose littoral forests in the southeast for the lethifold attack because they also have thick vegetation and I wanted something with sand as well.


	69. It seems the sun comes out, keeps shining all the while

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sophia meets a bunch of people (featuring reader-submitted OCs).
> 
> Chapter title from “When My Baby Smiles at Me” by Ted Lewis and Andrew B. Sterling (1920)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an unorthodox sort of “bonus” chapter. I’ll intermingle author’s notes between each day of the journey (you’ll see what I mean).
> 
> I posted a Valentine's Day Sopheus special [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9698798).
> 
> I hope you all enjoy! I did the best I could incorporating the first three submissions I received. There will obviously have to be a final battle scene (if only for the sake of yours truly, because the Hogwarts battle scene is my favorite chapter ever) and every single cast member up til now WILL be featured in the good guys’ army (unless one of you is secretly a Grindelwald fanatic, which is totally cool too), including any submitted OCs. And I won’t kill anyone off unless they explicitly request it.
> 
> I’ve created an ongoing OC submission page on my blog with more details, [here](http://academla.com/oc)!
> 
> UNEDITED (as always I'm halfway out the door) but will come back and edit later. Forgive any mistakes :P

_ Note about OCs: you guys send these long involved characterizations and I have like the space of a ten-minute conversation to incorporate them — so as much as I enjoy the detail, I'm usually not able to accommodate all of it. However, I'll do what I can, and especially stay true to the context/interaction you request. _

* * *

_ Week 7, Monday  _

By Monday morning, Newt has forgiven Sophia, having secured her a room a few doors down from him and Tina and granted her first class status as well. Her only enemy thus far is the woman who had to put up with her in Security, which is promising to all.

Newt and Tina quite obviously want alone time. This is perfectly fine with Sophia. However, it doesn’t take long for her to become very bored. 

She’s milling around the deck at around five o'clock, enjoying the salty spray and sunlight, when she does a double take. A few feet away, a young woman is standing at the railing. She has straight black shoulder-length hair, a relatively tall and lean build, and is wearing a midnight blue No-Maj style hooded jacket with gray leather boots.

“TEE?!” Sophia cries.

Serenity Marlowe jolts — she’d clearly been lost in thought — and turns around, brown eyes widening when she recognizes the 20-year-old. “Soph!” she exclaims, throwing her arms around the girl.

“You got taller,” Sophia says accusatorily.

“You didn’t,” Serenity replies. Then she pauses. “Do you still need to call me ‘Tee’?”

Sophia looks at her as though she’s insane for even asking. “Um, yeah. Duh.”

Serenity sighs good-naturedly, then grins and gives Sophia another squeeze. “Fine.”

“You got a purple streak in your hair!” Sophia notices. 

“Transfiguration mishap,” Serenity explains. “I figured out the counterspell, but I kept the hair.”

“I like it,” Sophia approves. 

Serenity smiles. “Thanks. What are you doing here?”

“I work with Newt! You know, Newt Scamander.”

“The magizoologist?”

“Mmhm.”

Serenity smiles. “So your dream finally came true.”

Sophia beams. “Sure did. And you?”

“I’m a commissioned spellmaker now. I do some transfiguration and charms research as well, to help with invention. I’ve been traveling around the world for work — spells are slightly different from country to country, and I’m interested in collecting data. I think I’d like to write a book eventually.”

“Newt could probably help with that,” Sophia declares confidently. “But jeepers, that’s swell! Your dream finally came true too, huh?”

The two girls met at Ilvermorny on the school grounds in Sophia’s third year. They had both snuck out after curfew — Sophia was trying to track down a creature she thought she’d spotted that afternoon; Serenity, a second grade Thunderbird at the time, was experimenting with magic in the quietude of the mountainside. Unfortunately, Serenity’s clumsiness kicked in, and she ended up tripping over her own feet. Her cry attracted a nearby Sophia’s attention, who thought someone was being seriously injured and came running to her rescue. The two girls instantly hit it off and spent an hour discussing their ambitions — Serenity wanted to be a commissioned spellmaker, while Sophia dreamt of a future in magizoology.

After their first encounter, they began sneaking out together every so often. They landed themselves in detention once, but their Transfiguration professor (and Albus Dumbledore's half cousin) was incredibly understanding and casually left after five minutes of a half-hearted lecture. As a result, Serenity ended up practicing spells in an empty classroom while Sophia took out an untoward amount of books from the library. 

Serenity had her own social group, leaving Sophia feeling like a nuisance most of the time, particularly since it was a bit odd for an older girl to be hovering around a younger clique. The problem was that Sophia had significantly fewer friends than her partner in crime — primarily by choice — which created a slight sense of self-conscious (for her) inequality. However, the two of them still developed something of a sisterly dynamic, one which Sophia had not experienced with anyone else until meeting Queenie. 

Despite the age disparity, Serenity helped Sophia with Transfiguration homework quite a lot, and they spent many a weekend people-watching in Babington. The younger girl’s astounding ability to read others gave Sophia a run for her money, but in the end only served to improve her sharp intuit. 

Serenity’s aptitude for spell-casting shone through in her fourth year, when she pulled several pranks on Sophia's snide classmates. The magic behind the pranks was so brilliant that the faculty had difficulty disciplining such a promising and sincere young witch, and Serenity successfully got off scot free, having also sufficiently intimidated the bullies. 

When Sophia graduated, there was no talk of staying in touch. It wasn’t for lack of caring: they simply went their separate ways. Sophia thought about Serenity occasionally, especially during Ilvermorny graduation the following year. But time went on and memories faded — until now.

“It did,” Serenity nods, referring to the fulfillment of her dream. 

“So what have — hey! Newt!” Sophia yells, waving her arm. Newt and Tina have emerged from below deck, holding hands, and walk towards her. “They’re totally goofy for each other,” she informs Serenity hurriedly, “and they  _ should _ get married, but they’re total idiots and haven’t... anyway, it’s like Jim and Pam Halpert, remember how long it took for them to get together? You totally called it, I was so impressed — hello,” she chirps as the couple joins them.

“I thought you were staying in the room,” Newt says somewhat sternly.

Sophia rolls her eyes and turns to her friend and explains, “I kinda stowed away, you know, how was I supposed to let them go off to Territory of New Guinea and leave me behind? Couldn’t do that. But Newt’s all in a lather about it — can’t understand why, seriously — oh, this is Tee,” she announces.

“Serenity Marlowe,” Serenity corrects, and shakes both Newt and Tina’s hands. “Nice to meet you.”

Sophia gives them the lowdown, relaying how the two of them met and what Serenity’s doing now. “I thought you could give her some pointers on the whole book thing,” she tells Newt. “She’s really brilliant!”

“What sort of spells do you work with?” Newt inquires.

“Oh, everything. I’m commissioned, so I need to have skills across the board.”

He looks at her keenly. “I’ve dabbled in spellmaking a bit, but I seem to have hit a roadblock. I’d be much obliged if you’d consider looking at the work I’ve done? I work with creatures, see” — “She  _ knows _ that,” Sophia says annoyedly — “and they can be a bit agitated sometimes. I thought perhaps a spell to calm them down would be tremendously useful, except I can’t quite get it to work consistently.”

“I’ve actually worked with creatures before, a couple years ago when I was interning,” Serenity replies. “I could definitely take a look and see what I can do.”

“Isn’t that NICE, Newt?” Sophia says in excitement. “And see, look, I do have friends, by the way!” she adds.

“I don’t think there was any doubt,” Tina puts in. She turns to Serenity then and asks, “Did you ever consider getting involved with MACUSA? There’s a surprising shortage of spellmakers for Auror training and the force could probably use someone like you. Not now, because of the...” She pauses; everyone knows what she’s talking about, though. “It’s kinda hectic. But I can introduce you to President Picquery, if that would interest you.”

“Hot dawg!” Sophia answers for Serenity. “Tina’s the best.”

“That would be very nice,” Serenity responds graciously, exchanging an amused, this-is-how-she’s-always-been look with Newt and Tina at Sophia's interruption. “Thank you.”

Given that Newt still seems interested in learning more about her craft, they all end up taking a seat and chatting for a full hour. It turns out that Serenity is a half-blood, and has a lot of experience with the No-Maj world given that her dad's parents were Squibs. This brings up the topic of Jacob and Queenie’s illicit relationship. Newt explains that in the UK, marriage to Muggles is common and often necessary to prevent extinction. Tina stops him before he can launch into a rant about the backwards laws in America. 

“My great-grandparents got married in Europe,” Serenity admits. “It was really the only way. They moved there towards the end of their lives.” She nods at Newt. “The rules  _ are _ pretty backwards.”

“Thank you,” he mutters; both Tina and Sophia roll their eyes.

“We suggested that to them,” Tina says. “Queenie and Jacob. They were — well, Queenie was — pretty determined to win over Madam Picquery, but with what’s going on with...” It’s as though mentioning the actual state of the world is taboo. The  _ Wayfinder _ is a sanctuary, trapping its passengers in a limbo where they don’t have to face reality yet but know full well that it's out there. “They’ve been reconsidering, I think,” Tina finishes.

“We did offer Scamander Island for a wedding,” Newt adds.

“Yeah,  _ their  _ wedding,” Sophia whispers audibly to Serenity. 

The dinner bell gongs then. The spellmaker isn't in first class like the others. Although the trio offer to invite her anyway — Tina  _ tries _ to limit the amount of times they take advantage of Newt’s status, but it’s nice to see Sophia with someone her own age — she declines, still promising to meet Newt in the lounge later to discuss his spell. 

“I like her,” Tina tells Sophia as they go downstairs. “You guys are well-suited.”

Sophia grins. “She was younger, but I always kinda thought she was cooler than me.”

“She is,” Newt agrees. Sophia stomps on his foot; he almost tumbles down the stairs, but is caught by his long-suffering girlfriend. “Thank you,” he says, kissing Tina lightly.

“You’re both ridiculous,” Tina sighs. Newt takes her hand as they walk down the corridor towards the dining room. “She reminds me a little of myself, actually,” she tells Sophia.

Sophia wrinkles up her nose. “How so?”

“She's very calm.”

Sophia gapes. “Sorry, have you  _ seen  _ yourself have a panic attack?”

Tina flushes slightly. Newt frowns disapprovingly at his assistant. “I don't mean it like that. She isn't as energetic as you” — “No one is,” Sophia scoffs, and Newt agrees again — “and she seems... tough. Not someone to be messed with.”

The hostess checks their badges, then cordially motions for them to enter. They take a seat near the stage. “Yeah, no one messed with her at school,” Sophia says, and recounts several tales of her friend defending her honor. Much to her chagrin, Newt is incredibly hungry, and cuts into her story by asking whether they fancy the buffet or ordering. 

This interruption prompts an unnecessarily lengthy argument between the two of them, with Tina finally interjecting exasperatedly that they don't  _ both  _ need to do one or the other, but that they need to decide on something before they get kicked out of the saloon. 

“You'll be much happier once you eat,” she points out. Food is an eternal struggle with the three of them: Tina forgets to eat when she’s stressed, Newt forgets to eat when he’s distracted, and Sophia always wants to eat and gets in an abysmal mood when she goes too long in between meals.

“I’d rather order,” Newt proclaims. 

“No, I wanna do the buffet,” Sophia decides, just to spite him. 

“Mercy Lewis!” Tina cries. “Newt, you can order. I'll take Sophia to the buffet.” She pushes herself away from the table and stands up. 

“Wha — I don't need a chaperone!” Sophia protests, at the same time as Newt decides, “Never mind, I’ll accompany to you to the buffet, if I may.”

“You may not,” Sophia snaps, looping her arm possessively through Tina's, while Newt says, “Yes, you absolutely need a chaperone,” and takes Tina's other arm. 

“Good grief,” Tina groans, and pushes both parties away from her. She grabs her plate.  _ “I'm  _ going to the buffet then. You two have fun figuring out how you're gonna feed yourselves, because I'm not putting up with this for the rest of the night.”

She walks off rather brusquely. Newt and Sophia turn to one another simultaneously and say, “You started it!”

This trip is getting off to a  _ great  _ start.

* * *

_ Since “years” is pretty British, I refer to Ilvermorny as “grades” when I can. Obviously first grade is different now than it is at Ilvermorny, but I thought a distinction would be important. _

_ God bless Newt/Tina/Sophia scenes. _

_ This is for **@ChaptersOneToInfinity** on AO3, possibly my most loyal reader (other than Fen, who is this fic’s other mom) — I hope you’re happy with it! _

* * *

_ Week 7, Tuesday _   
  
Tuesday sees Newt and Tina being disgusting and romantic at breakfast. Repulsed but accepting that they’re probably trying to get it all out of their system before Newt runs off into the wild and potentially gets himself killed for real this time, Sophia makes a quick escape.

She likes being on the ocean liner. It’s just as fancy as Scamander Island, and a nice reprieve from everything. That being said, she isn’t quite sure what to do with herself amongst so many other passengers.

As she discussed with Newt in their very first conversation, Sophia doesn’t really  _ like _ people. To the outside eye, she knows she comes across extroverted, bouncy, talkative, and the type to make friends easily. The problem is, she’s not really. She’s never bought into the whole “best friends” thing, or friends in general. Serenity was an anomaly. For Pete’s sake, she feels more attached to Elsie than she ever felt to her own parents. 

No, interpersonal connections just aren’t that common or important to her. 

In seeming conflict with this fact, however, is that she still enjoys  _ talking _ to others as a form of entertainment. But this proclivity is not to be confused with prioritizing a social life. 

All of this has often worked against her, as her friendliness can lead people into thinking they’re close when in reality she’s just kind of breezing through life, happy to have conversations but not intending to actively make friends. She’s inadvertently hurt acquaintances far too many times by not staying in touch or by accidentally forgetting they exist when they’re trying to make plans.

Right now, with Elsie, Tina, Newt, and Theseus, Sophia has more of a social world than she’s had in her entire life, and she really doesn’t need anybody else. Newt’s like her brother — the ease with which they’ve developed their brother/sister relationship is another anomaly — Tina her sister-in-law, and Theseus, well.

She misses Theseus.

The point  _ being,  _ while she considers them to be friends now and actively seeks out his company, the only reason they connected in the first place was because they involuntarily (at first) spent so much time with each other. Had they not, they might never have become friends.

As such, Sophia knows that socializing on this boat will pose an issue if people think she’s going to stay friends with them past “oh hey we’re in the same vicinity, that’s cool.” It makes her a bit nervous.

She’s roaming around the upper deck, bored out of her mind, when her eyes land on someone who looks around her age. The woman can’t be much taller than Sophia, and her hair has three turquoise highlights on each side. Interesting. Is she friends with Serenity? 

“Hey,” Sophia says brightly, skipping over to her.

The passenger looks up, surprised. “Hello,” she responds a bit cautiously.

“I’m Sophia!” Sophia sticks out her hand.

The woman shakes it. “I’m Lilli,” she replies.

“Swell.” Sophia grins. “So, whatcha doing here?”

“I’m a magical linguist,” Lilli answers. “I wanted to go to Japan, but I got a study grant for Territory of New Guinea.”

“That’s awesome! D’you speak a bunch of languages?”

“Thirty,” Lilli says, smiling.

“Hot dawg!” Sophia exclaims. “Tell me, are there really different incantations in different languages? ‘Cause how would that work, even? Not that I know much about magic, but I’d think there would only be one way to make one thing happen, right?”

Lilli, who still seems slightly disconcerted by Sophia’s friendliness, begins talking about her craft, hesitantly at first and then with contagious passion and excitement. Sophia gets the sense that the linguist doesn’t necessarily get to discuss this very much; the magizoologist herself wholeheartedly empathizes with this particular plight, as until she met Newt she had very few people interested in her ambitions as well.

“That’s amazing!” Sophia declares when the young woman finally pauses to take a breath. “Good gravy, now I feel like some sort of a female dewdropper compared to you.”

Lilli laughs, although something in her expression is shifting the more Sophia talks. “What do you like to do?”

“Oh, you don’t even want to get me  _ started,”  _ Sophia says, even though Lilli already has. “Listen, wanna go get something to drink? I’m —”

Lilly, who has become increasingly fidgety, suddenly interrupts awkwardly, “Look, I’m sorry but I — I’m not interested.”

Sophia’s eyes bug out. “Come again?”

“I — you’re very nice, but I’m not looking for anything —”

Sophia looks horrified. “I’m not — do you think I’m  _ flirting  _ with you?!”

Lilli looks even more horrified. “You’re not?”

“No, I —  _ jeepers,  _ I’m just being friendly!” Sophia cries.

“I am  _ so  _ sorry,” Lilli apologizes hastily. 

“It’s fine, I don’t mind, it’s just… well, I’m quite straight, really, and I’m kind of in love with — okay, not in love with — it’s complicated, but anyway. Point is, I’m straight, and I’m not flirting with you.”

Lilli is visibly relieved. “Good. Thank you.”

“Wait,” Sophia says indignantly, replaying Lilli’s panicked reaction in her head. “Why were you so upset? Are you calling me  _ ugly?”  _

Lilli appears supremely uncomfortable. “No,” she tries to explain hurriedly, “it’s only that I’ve just split up with my girlfriend and I’m still not — not in a situation to be with anybody  _ else,  _ it’s not personal, it’s — you’re very pretty, I’m not saying you’re  _ not,”  _ her ears are turning red, “I’m not saying you are, either” — Sophia raises an eyebrow — “you know, in that… I’m not flirting with you,” she concludes desperately.

Sophia grins and claps her on the back. “It’s fine. So, wanna go to the cafe?”

Lilli nods, both girls grateful that  _ that’s  _ been smoothed over, and the two of them step up to the counter. “It’s on me,” Lilli says immediately. “I’m so sorry about the misunderstanding.”

“Nah, it’s alright,” Sophia says dismissively. “Really. But I’m kinda broke, and I can’t steal money from Newt anymore, so if you wanna pay…”

“It’s no problem,” Lilli assures her. She orders a large black coffee — as she informed Sophia earlier, she has a nasty addiction — and Sophia gets a latte. Lilli, of course, is none the wiser. 

They’re about to walk around and find a table when Newt appears just in time and swipes the second coffee cup out of Lilli’s hand. “Absolutely not,” he says firmly, frowning at Sophia. He turns to Lilli and asks rather accusatorily, “Why were you giving her coffee?”

Lilli jumps to a  _ very _ wrong conclusion then. “Is this your boyfriend?” she asks Sophia, in an attempt to be friendly and encouraging of her heterosexuality.

Newt, who had been about to take a sip of the beverage intended for Sophia, splutters, spraying coffee everywhere, and begins choking. “No,” he says, sounding strangled, “not even a  _ little  _ bit, no.” Once he can breathe again, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and repeats emphatically, “NO. I would  _ never —” _

“Why does everyone think I’m so repulsive?!” Sophia yells, then adds, “But no, that’s Newt Scamander, and he’s like my brother, and I would never date him in a million  _ trillion  _ gazillion years. That’d be incest, you know, and he’s not even that  _ attractive,  _ you know, I like w —”

Newt smacks her on the shoulder. “The short answer is that no, I am not her boyfriend,” he states, having recovered from the horror.

“Never,” Sophia repeats. “He’s disgusting, and also gonna marry Tina Goldstein, so — oh, hey, Teen!” she shouts, waving the Auror over. “This is Lilli,” she introduces Lilli, who seems to be in some sort of shock, “Lil, this is Tina.”

“Hello,” Tina says kindly, then turns to Newt. “Why do you have coffee all over your shirt?”

“Ask her,” Newt says weakly, pointing at Lilli.

“Lilli thought me and Newt were dating,” Sophia says in a pained voice. 

“I’m really sorry, I —” Lilli attempts to apologize.

“And I reminded everyone that Newt’s  _ disgusting,”  _ Sophia continues, talking over her.

Tina looks at Sophia reproachfully. Newt still seems incredibly displeased with Lilli, despite the fact that it was clearly an honest mistake.

“Congratulations on your engagement,” Lilli finally says, to break the awkward silence, punctuated mostly by everyone glowering at one another.

Tina’s eyebrows shoot into her hairline, Newt glares at Sophia, and Sophia can’t help but grin. “Sorry,” she says unapologetically.

“We aren’t engaged,” Tina clarifies weakly.

Lilli cringes. “Oh! Oh, no, I’m —”

“It’s fine, Lil,” Sophia says breezily. “I just have this theory that the more people think they’re engaged or married, the more likely it is that they’ll eventually be.”

“Right,” Newt says loudly. “No more coffee, and please, for Merlin’s sake, do  _ not _ cause trouble.” He turns to Lilli. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-seven,” Lilli replies.

“Good, you can babysit Sophia then,” Newt says, patting his assistant condescendingly on the head.

“Shut up!” Sophia says. She turns to Lilli. “I’m 20, by the way, he just likes to make fun of me because he treats me like a daughter… it’s only ‘cause he and Tina don’t  _ have _ one yet, really —”

“Bye, Soph,” Tina says pointedly. She smiles at Lilli. “It was nice to meet you.”

Sophia leans over to Lilli and whispers, “She wasn’t flirting with you, just in case you were gonna turn her down too.”

“Oh, no, I —”

“Relax,” Sophia says, looping her arm through Lilli’s elbow. “Come on, let’s go make mayhem.”

And, as is proven when Newt and Tina are dragged to the captain’s quarters yet again to discover that Lilli had aided and abetted Sophia’s attempts to build a massive zipline from one end of the ship to the other, they do.

* * *

_ This was for **@MonAlice** on AO3, who sent me a very long email basically writing out the entire interaction for me. I’m sorry I didn’t use all of it, but I did what I could. Sorry I kind of took the awkward situation you suggested and ran with it :P Lilli will be in the next chapter as well.  
_

_ P.S. Guess what Sophia was about to say she likes when Newt cuts her off ;) _

* * *

_ Week 7, Wednesday _

Day three of the voyage is more of the same. Newt and Tina decide to go to the pool; Sophia opts out (much to Newt’s relief) and settles for going to the ship’s library, flashing her first class badge, and dragging a stack of books onto the deck, where she sits at a table with her ankles on the railing.

It gets more crowded around lunchtime; they’re doing some sort of fancy picnic special, with vendors on the upper deck as well as the café. Friends and families pour out of the stairwells, mingling and chatting. Rolling her eyes as a toddler starts pitching a fit nearby, Sophia looks back at her book.

She glances up a few minutes later and sees a couple young women clearly searching for a place to sit. Everywhere else in the vicinity is packed. Given that she’s currently one person taking up a four-person table, Sophia swings her legs down and waves the couple over. “You can sit here!” she says brightly, gesturing to the chairs.

They both have dirty blond hair, but past that don’t seem at all like sisters. Sophia estimates their ages at around 23 or 24 — then again, she never trusts her judgment given that she would probably estimate her own age as 15.

“Are you sure?” the shorter blonde, who has dark brown eyes, asks. Sophia waves a hand dismissively and nods. “Thank you! I’m Andromeda Lockhart,” the woman adds. “Call me Andy. Please.”

“I’m Juliet Harper,” her blue-eyed companion says, smiling. She’s very pretty, in a similar way to Queenie. “This is Grace,” Juliet adds in an American accent as someone who looks identical to her joins them, “my twin sister. I’m a Squib, but she’s a magical art dealer. She’s going to Australia and then  _ Hollywood!” _

“That’s great!” Sophia pronounces. “So what’re you guys doing here?”

Andy and Juliet look at each other, and Sophia is suddenly reminded of Newt and Tina. “Juje and I are actually getting married,” Andy announces, nearly bursting from excitement. “I work for the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, I’m part of the Invisibility Task Force, and what with the attacks and Juje being a Squib, well… Hector — sorry, Minister Fawley — was pretty understanding, actually. Emmeline wasn’t so keen on it.”

“Newt and Tina should take a page out of your book,” Sophia mutters, then beams. “Congratulations! How did you guys meet?”

“Grace introduced us,” Andy answers. 

Grace nods and sits next to her sister. “I ran into Andy when I found myself in a bit of a situation with a sketchy art dealer,” she explains. “I was in Scotland visiting family at the time — Jul was staying with our grandma back in Boston — and the Ministry sent Andy to help out. It wasn’t a big deal and she was their newest, so I guess they could spare her. We got along pretty well and the next time Jul and I came to the UK, we all had dinner.” She grins. “The rest is history.”

“When was that?” Sophia asks.

“Five years ago,” Andy and Juliet say simultaneously.

“Jeepers, that’s a long time!” Sophia comments, very impressed.

“Well,” Juliet explains a little more somberly, “people aren’t all so supportive of, you know…”

“Oh,” Sophia scoffs, “that’s such baloney. Good grief, it’s not like it’s  _ love _ or anything. Shouldn’t matter what gender you are.” She pauses. “Didja have to keep it under wraps?”

“Yeah,” Andy sighs. “We still do.”

Sophia absolutely  _ hates  _ how prejudiced people, even in the wizarding community, can be towards same-sex couples. Maybe it’s because she wasn’t raised religiously — and religion is slightly different, flexible with more grey areas, than it seems to be with No-Majs — but it seems such painfully common sense that marriage is about a helluva lot more than being a man and a woman. The whole point of marriage and relationships is love and partnership and teamwork, and she’s completely unable to fathom why others wouldn’t feel the same. They’re valuing marriage for all the wrong reasons, clearly. Andy and Juliet are overjoyed when she vehemently expresses this sentiment.

“Most people are just tolerant,” Juliet says sadly. “It’s really nice to know that someone actively supports it.”

“Why New Guinea, though?” Sophia asks. A house-elf totters over with their food; noticing that Sophia has none, Juliet immediately insists on sharing. She’s proving to be one of those mysteriously  _ genuinely _ sweet people, made sweeter by the way she and her fiancée look at one another. Newt had filled Sophia in privately about his conversation with Dumbledore, and Sophia’s gotta agree: if nothing else, love is their greatest weapon. Now is not the time to disparage it in any way, shape, or form.

“Well,” Andy says quietly, “since Juje is a Squib, we’re a little concerned about her safety with the whole Grindelwald thing. I know attacks are happening everywhere, but I thought maybe if we were far enough away, I might be able to keep her a bit safer.”

“Yeah,” Juliet says wistfully, “it’s really unfortunate, the not having magic.” Then she squeezes her fiancée’s hand. “But I have a top-notch Ministry employee to protect me.”

“Who’s marrying you?” Sophia inquires. 

“Oh, it’ll just be a small ceremony,” Andy replies dismissively. “We found someone who’s ordained and okay marrying, you know. Us.”

“I’ll be there,” Grace says firmly. “Magic art-dealing isn’t the riskiest of businesses, but I’ve been learning magic for two since we were born.”

Juliet smiles. “I always tell people these’re the two loves of my life,” she says. Then she nudges Sophia, who’s still eyeing her plate and feeling guilty about eating such a nice person’s food. If it was Newt, she would’ve finished it already, but she does have  _ some _ manners. “Go on, honey, you look hungry.”

They all tuck in — the food is delicious — and talk for awhile afterward. Despite being a Squib, Juliet has always had a passion for medicine, and she’s taught herself as much about the theory as she can from No-Maj and wizarding books alike.

“I know magic Healing is a lot better,” she admits, “but there are benefits to No-Maj medicine as well. And I’m going to be stuck with No-Maj alternatives whatever I do, so I thought I should at least know what I’m doing.”

“That’s swell,” Sophia pronounces. “Maybe we should take you along. Newt’s a real hazard, honestly.”

Time flies, and the conversation continues for another couple hours before Sophia remembers she should probably find Newt and let him know that she’s still very much alive. She particularly likes Grace, who’s excitable and enthusiastic once she warms up, but also very down-to-earth.

“I’d better go,” Sophia says apologetically, getting to her feet. “I’ll see you around?”

“Absolutely,” Andy replies. “You’ll have to introduce us to Newt and Tina sometime.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you guys can trade horror stories about the Ministry,” Sophia grins. 

“Definitely,” Andy affirms. 

“It was great to meet you,” Grace and Juliet say simultaneously.

“It’s so annoying when they do that, talk at the same time,” Andy tells Sophia. “But it’s not on purpose.”

“You love it,” Juliet teases her.

“I love  _ you,”  _ Andy replies.

“Wow, you’re almost as disgustingly cute as Newt and Tina,” Sophia comments, then waves and skips away.

* * *

_ There was this girl Julia in my grade from middle to high school and she’d been called “Juje” (like ‘jooj’) her whole life (she had lived here her entire life too) and I just thought it was really cute. And my friend’s sister is named Julianna but my friend calls her Jul. I have a thing for nicknames, kill me. _

_ Also, Andy is related to Gilderoy Lockhart. Yes, I made a family tree to figure it out. She’s his great-aunt. _

_ _ This was for **@lost-in-my-life** on Tumblr! Thank you for being so flexible :D _ _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been taking a break from Tumblr and AO3 (I've been posting to AO3 but not checking comments or anything) so if you did leave comments or messages I will respond eventually :)


	70. The kind of love that brings sweet harmony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a wedding is had and feelings are felt. Not integral to the plot, so feel free to skip.
> 
> The look on Andy and Juliet’s face as they see people pile into the ballroom, supportive and smiling, is priceless and, blessedly, caught on camera by Chris.
> 
> “Dammit,” Andy says tearfully, wiping her eyes. “I wasn’t supposed to do this til after the wedding.”
> 
> Chapter title from “When My Baby Smiles at Me” by Ted Lewis and Andrew B. Sterling (1920)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... this chapter just happened. You don’t need to read it. But this is something I’m deeply, viscerally passionate about. And quite frankly, I give zero fucks if anybody tries to criticize this. 
> 
> Yes, I know it isn’t integral to the plot. 
> 
> Yes, I might be pushing the envelope in terms of how many people would be accepting (but there are 5,000 people aboard this ship and only a couple hundred show up, so that’s a very small percentage).
> 
> Yes, I might not have gotten all the details of weddings from the 20s exactly correct. 
> 
> Yes, I fast-forwarded the wedding ceremony and left out some parts.
> 
> Yes, same-sex marriage wasn’t even legal back then (at least in the non-magical world).
> 
> Here’s the thing: I don’t just write for hits (even though it’s been really hard not to feel insecure and competitive recently, hence my absence from AO3 beyond posting). 
> 
> I write to express myself through my characters, because, as my creative writing teacher once told me when we were discussing a piece I turned in, “writing is something you have to do.” My characters speak to me; I just narrate. And this was incessantly begging to be documented. 
> 
> So, I will tell you upfront that if anyone gives me a problem for any reason (which I sincerely hope nobody will), your comment will be deleted. I care about being recognized, but I don’t care if I lose readers over this.
> 
> One last comment: I really didn’t want to stereotype Andy as “the guy” in the relationship, and her name was unisex by coincidence. She asks Newt to be her best man because she notices that he’s left out. There’s nothing wrong (obviously) with lesbian relationships having that dynamic, but I also don’t want anybody to think like, wow, there she goes, just assuming every lesbian couple has to have an explicitly masculine and feminine partner in it. Also, I opted to have a "traditional" wedding party (sans parents). My online research into weddings (omg so many wedding forums in my history) basically concluded that everyone does it a bit differently.
> 
> And who doesn't need a lil extra fluff (even though you don't ship them and you're here for the Newtina probably but hopefully also the action and OCs) before things get crazy? And I DID fit some Newtina in there at the end. Wouldn't want to disappoint ;)

_If any of my readers are LGBTQ and face prejudice every day, this is for you.  
_

* * *

_Week 7, Thursday_

The brilliant idea occurs to Sophia as soon as she wakes up. Her excitement is so overwhelming she exclaims, and two seconds later Newt is pounding on the door, asking if she’s alright. “Oh my god, calm down,” she tells him annoyedly. “It’s not even seven.”

“I know,” he mumbles. “Light sleeper.”

“I’m three rooms away,” Sophia points out.

“Supposed to take care of you,” he mutters, definitely half asleep. Down the hallway, Tina pokes her head out and shoots Sophia a questioning look.

“You okay?” she calls.

“Fine,” Sophia says firmly, then shoves Newt towards his girlfriend. “Go back to sleep, big bro.”

He makes a weak attempt to hit her, then pads back down the hallway and joins Tina.

Sophia changes at lightning speed and is halfway out the door when it occurs to her that she doesn’t actually know where Andy, Juliet, and Grace are staying. She does, however, know where the administrative rooms are, and so she wastes no time in sprinting there.

The security lady takes one look at Sophia and shuts the door in her face. Sophia promptly starts knocking rapidly and loudly until the door creaks open. “Yes?” the woman asks, with overwhelming undertones of _if I had my way you would be thousands of miles away from me._

“I feel like we got off on the wrong foot,” Sophia says in her best attempt at being charming. She holds out a hand. “I’m Sophia.”

“I know that.”

“Right.” Sophia waits for a handshake. It doesn’t come. “And you are…?”

“Officer McGonagall.”

Sophia nods. “Cool. McGonagall.”

_“Officer.”_

“Officer McGonagall, then. Can you tell me where Andromeda Lockhart’s room is?”

“No. Why?”

“I just had this really good idea and I needed to tell them —”

“At half six in the morning?” McGonagall asks disbelievingly.

“Well, it’s _kind_ of early, but it’s very important.”

Another two minutes of heated bartering and pleading ensue until Sophia gives up.

“I’ll just start knocking on _every_ door,” she decides. “Thanks a lot, McGonagall.” She turns and scampers away.

“Wait!” the officer calls with the air of someone who has lost all faith in life and the prospects of a relaxed and uneventful journey to their destination. She appears tremendously pained as she seems to have realized the commotion that a young woman racing through the ship breaking down doors might cause. “Just...”

Sophia walks closer and leans forward, watching the woman intently and also slightly smugly.

“Give me one moment,” the officer says weakly.

“Yes!” Sophia shouts in triumph.

“Can you pipe down?!” a disgruntled passenger yells from below deck.

“Sorry!” Sophia replies, grinning.

* * *

“I have an idea!” Sophia cries the moment she reaches Andy’s room and wrenches open the door.

Andy and Juliet jump out of their beds, Andy’s wand held aloft as she steps in front of her fiancée to shield her. They relax when they see who it is.

“Come in,” Andy says wearily, putting her wand away.

Sophia takes a seat at the table as Grace enters, coffee cup in hand and securing her bathrobe around her waist. The three other women sit down.

“Listen,” Sophia says in barely-contained excitement, “the captain of this ship can marry people! I talked to him, he said he’ll do it!”

Andy frowns and looks to Juliet, who says, “Hold on, Sophia. What?”

“He’ll marry you!” Sophia exclaims. “Oh, it’ll be wonderful,” she continues imploringly, “and you’ll have a big audience, and —”

“Does he know who he’s marrying?” Andy asks somewhat darkly.

Sophia gawks at her. “Does he — oh. Yes,” she nods emphatically, “I told him, he said he doesn’t mind if you don’t. Which you don’t, right?”

“This is a lot,” Juliet confesses. Her fiancée puts an arm around her. “I... what do you think, babe?”

Andy appears equally overwhelmed. “Sophia has a point,” she says slowly. “I mean... it’s safe here, and we have friends.” Sophia waves cheerily.

“I don’t want them to... I don’t want them to say anything,” Juliet says in a small voice.

Grace and Sophia exchange _oh shit we hadn’t thought of that_ glances.

“Well hey,” Sophia says bracingly, “they don’t have to come. We can make it private. Me and Newt and Tina. And my old school friend, Tee, and this linguist I met — she thought I was flirting with her, then thought Newt was my boyfriend, it was _terrible —_ but anyway, she’s the bee’s knees, I know she’d come.

“And if anyone’s rude, Newt’s punched a fella before, and Tina’s an Auror, and I can rip people to shreds with my words. And Tee is a spellmaker, she pranked these girls in fourth year, and Grace is your twin sister, she already said she learned magic for two — I’m sure she’d happily fight —”

“Sophia, it’s fine,” Juliet says, cutting in before the day’s over. “We believe you.” She and Andy look at each other one more time, then join hands and nod. “We’ll do it.”

“YAY!” Sophia shouts, her degree of exhilaration matching her volume. It’s contagious, and Juliet gives into celebration as well, throwing her arms around Andy and kissing her. Grace spectates in amusement.

Once their brief festivities are over, Sophia lapses immediately into planning mode. “Hang on, I gotta get backup, I’ll need to talk to the captain, I’ll hafta wake Newt and Tina... oh, I wish we’d had longer, even a month would’ve been nice — but it’s gonna be the BERRIES!!!” She yanks open the door and speeds down the hall, whooping ecstatically all the way.

* * *

It takes most of the day to get things settled. Tina needs her emergency cup of coffee, Newt and Sophia have to check on the creatures, the entire crew has to be briefed and coerced and make enough time to help accommodate this spur-of-the-moment affair, and time flies. It’s five o’clock before they manage to pull everything together.

The dresses have been donned, the vows hastily (not at all) rehearsed, the rings secured. The crew has graciously set aside the ballroom, despite the fact that there are only six attendants beside the brides and the captain. These attendants, however, are dressed to the nines and treating this for all the world as though it’s a roaring party with hundreds of guests.

Sophia is scurrying around, trying to fix everything just so, from Juliet’s hair to a lopsided chair to the captain’s hat, while he’s wearing it, which is actually received with much more tolerance than anyone had anticipated. She sternly straightens his tie for good measure — Newt says something about _boundaries,_ which she stoutly ignores — and finally steps back, hands clasped in delight.

“Are we ready?” Captain Leonard Kraft asks kindly.

They all look at each other somewhat nervously. “I think so,” Juliet says from the front of the room, where a little stage and flower arch has been erected.

“Excellent,” Leonard says warmly.

Before anyone can move, the door swings open. “Is this the wedding?” a young man asks, poking his head in.

“Yes,” Sophia says, crossing her arms and blocking him. “Do you have a problem?”

He’s clearly alarmed at her animosity. “No, it’s just that I’m a photographer” — he waves a camera — “and I thought the brides might like some wedding pictures.”

At the word “brides,” Sophia relaxes and lets him in. “They’re just about ready over there,” she informs him.

“Thanks. Chris Kernan,” he says as an aside. She shakes his hand distractedly. “By the way, there are a bunch of people out there,” he adds, jerking his thumb at the entrance. “They heard about the wedding.”

“What’s wrong?” Serenity asks in concern when she catches sight of her friend's expression.

Sophia relays Chris’s intentions.

“You think they’re bad?” Serenity asks in a low voice.

Sophia chews on her lip. “I don’t know.”

“What’s going on?” Lilli comes over. “Things are looking really good over there, by the way.”

“Yeah,” says Sophia, stressed out of her mind about this new development. Serenity fills Lilli in.

“Well, we’d better go check,” Lilli decides firmly, and strides over to the door. The two girls follow.

There is indeed a large crowd of adults and children alike forming outside the ballroom. All heads turn upon Lilli’s appearance.

“Hello,” the linguist says shortly. “Can we help you?”

“We’re here for the wedding,” a man in front says.

The three women exchange worried looks. “Do you know who’s getting married?” Serenity asks fearfully.

“Yeah, Ministry employee and a Squib!” someone shouts helpfully from the audience.

“Do you know —” Lilli starts, but the first man stops her.

“Listen, lady, if this is about ‘em being women, then it’s a damn shame you’re hiding all of this from us. How are they ever s’posed to feel normal if they got three girls guarding the door at their wedding and not letting anyone in, huh?” He crosses his arms and stands, feet widespread.

“So you all...?” Serenity says.

He nods, gestures to the people behind him. “We all wanna come.”

It’s enough to bring them to tears, especially Lilli, who relates all too well to the pain that Andy and Juliet must be experiencing. Sophia squeezes her arm comfortingly.

“Now, mind you,” the man adds, “some of the passengers ain’t so happy. But that security officer and her staff seem to have it under control.”

Sophia smirks. Good ol’ McGonagall. “Well then,” she says, opening the door and sweeping her arm grandly. “Welcome.”

* * *

The look on Andy and Juliet’s face as they see people pile into the ballroom, supportive and smiling, is priceless and, blessedly, caught on camera by Chris.

“Dammit,” Andy says tearfully, wiping her eyes. “I wasn’t supposed to do this til after the wedding.”

“It’s okay,” Juliet says in a voice laced with emotion. She gives a hiccuping little laugh and swipes at a tear on Andy’s cheek. “Babe, we’re getting married!”

“Oh my god,” Andy says hoarsely, bringing her fiancee’s forehead down to press against hers.

Happy volunteers help procure chairs, forming a legitimate aisle, and push tables to the edges of the room. A message is sent to the kitchen, asking the house-elves to prepare food for the reception.

Although there were no plans for a processional, now that the real thing is coming together, it only seems appropriate. Accordingly, the couple begin scouting as the room transforms around them. Juliet immediately takes Sophia by the hand. “Be my maid of honor?”

Sophia chokes down tears. “Duh!” she replies, throwing her arms around the bride.

Juliet turns to Serenity, Tina, Lilli, and Grace. “Will you be my bridesmaids?” she asks more tentatively than she should ever feel like she has to.

“Of course!” they cry in unison, then laugh.

Andy approaches Newt, who has been standing to the side looking a bit awkward. “Hey,” she says, clasping his arm. “I don’t know exactly how gay weddings are supposed to work, but I’d be chuffed if you’d be my best man.”

The smile that spreads across his face is tremendous and real and even slightly watery. He looks at Tina, as he always does when something good happens to either of them; she’s watching him with fondness, pride, and love.

The man who’d been at the front of the crowd outside comes forth and offers to act as a groomsman. Before Andy can respond (she’s in shock anyway, and producing words has become increasingly difficult), there’s a clamor as other men offer themselves up as well. Four men are chosen.

Meanwhile, a young couple with twin toddlers near the front have a whispered conversation, then bend down to say something into their children’s ears. The little girl and boy trot over to Andy.

“I be floor girl?” the girl, Eliza, asks.

“Flower girl,” her mother corrects.

“Ring bear,” her brother Oscar says too. That needs no translation.

“Of course,” Andy says, completely overwhelmed.

The twins look to their parents, unsure what to do next. Someone produces a bouquet, which is pressed into Eliza’s hands; someone else has gotten ahold of a pillow. They duplicate the real rings, affix the fakes to it, and give it to Oscar, whose mother comes over and guides him and his sister to join the rest of the wedding party. A handful of passengers who have volunteered to provide the music get themselves situated next to the stage — they’ve been instructed to play “Handel’s Largo,” a favorite of Juliet’s.

Once the processional has been hurriedly organized, the wedding party proceeds outside. Andy opts to stay beneath the flower arch and wait for Juliet. There was some discussion as to whether they ought to come in together, but in the end they decide on this arrangement.

Everybody quiets when the music begins, every note made all the more beautiful for the context. Clothes rustle as passengers shift in their seats; someone coughs; little children’s whines are cut short by their parents.

In walk the four groomsmen, followed by Newt; then Tina, Lilli, Serenity, and Harper; Sophia, nearly bounding down the aisle; and the little wide-eyed twins. Juliet comes last, and even though Andy has seen the dress multiple times, she feels her heart clench as she watches her beautiful almost-wife walk towards her. The surge of love and joy she feels is surreal, staggering.

Finally they stand before Captain Kraft, fingers loosely interlaced and unable to keep their eyes off of each other. To think that everything they have fought with and for has lead to this…

“I will do my utmost to make this quick,” the captain says with a tinge of amusement. “This young maid of honor has _more_ than emphatically made clear the urgency of this situation.” Sophia shrugs sheepishly.

He blows through opening remarks and soon hands over the floor to the couple. Neither of them prepared formal vows, but they each have more than ample things to say about one another.

“Right,” Andy says. “Well, um... Juje.

“The first time I met you, I thought you were beautiful. And then when you started talking, I thought, ‘Oh shit, what have I gotten myself into?’” The audience laughs gently. “I fell in love with you from the first day. You are my best friend. Before you, I didn’t really think anyone would love me. But somehow, miraculously, you came along and you did.

“This hasn’t been easy. I cannot put into words how much we have suffered, and how difficult it’s been to hide this. It’s hard, when the world is against your relationship, not to be a little bit against it as well.

“Thank you for making me a better person than I could ever hope to be. You are the kindest, funniest, smartest, strongest, most beautiful woman or person I have ever met. I promise to be there for you, to remind you every day why we fought so hard for this, to tell you when you have food on your face, and to be your best friend. I promise never to leave you, and always to love you.”

“Wow,” Juliet says shakily. “That was really nice.” Andy laughs softly. She takes a deep, steadying breath. “Andy... you’re my best friend too. When I was born a Squib, I felt like something was missing. Like I was a mistake. I didn’t know how I could ever feel whole without having magic.

“But then I met you. You _make_ me whole. It doesn’t matter if I can’t do magic. Your love makes it so none of that matters, nothing, except for us.

“I love you _so_ much.” Her voice breaks; Andy is barely keeping it together. “I promise to be there for you, through whatever happens. I promise to take care of you, to talk to you when you’re upset, to laugh with you when you’re happy, to hold your hand in public, and to be as proud of us as we always have been inside.

“Because it’s all about love, and I love you. Forever and always.”

The rings are produced. Andy goes first, sliding a delicate silver band onto Juliet’s finger with trembling hands. “With this ring I thee wed,” she murmurs reverently.

Juliet does the same, failing at holding back tears. She slides the gold band onto Andy’s finger and says tearfully, “With this ring I thee wed.”

The captain doesn’t mince words, as Sophia had threateningly directed him. “I now pronounce you married,” he says, beaming despite the formality of the situation. “You may now kiss your bride.”

Andy takes a moment to soak in the sight of Juliet’s face, the little freckle near her ear, those mindbogglingly beautiful blue eyes, that perfect cupid’s bow — she adores it all, adores everything that makes up this wonderful woman. Then, because they have hours and days and months and years and a _lifetime_ to memorize every inch of one another, she kisses her wife for the first time. They break apart at the roar of applause and turn to look at the audience. People are actually _on their feet,_ clapping.

“Oh my god, you’re my wife,” Juliet says incredulously, giggling. Andy pulls her close, unable to express the complete overload of emotion currently flooding her heart.

“I love you,” she whispers into Juliet’s ear. “With everything I have.”

“YOU’RE MARRIED!!!” Sophia screams suddenly, running and tackling both of them.

“Yeah, we are!” Juliet cries. “Thank you!”

“You GUYS!” Sophia shouts, and nearly strangles both of them with the strength of her embrace.

Then suddenly everyone is approaching them, congratulating them, and food materializes on the tables that are brought to the center of the room, and even the house-elves are smiling. Guests mill around for an informal reception, and then, at Sophia’s instruction, congregate for wedding toasts.

The dinner is delicious. Everyone is drunk on the excitement; friends are made and stories exchanged. Andy has several people thank _her_ for this event, because it’s been so long since they’ve had a wedding or seen a young couple in love or any number of reasons for their support. Finally, everybody has taken a seat, had their fill, and Sophia — of course — gets to stand and make the first toast.

“Well, uh, if we’re all found dead tomorrow, the cause of death will definitely be feelings,” she says, grinning. “But… I just wanna say, I’m so glad you all went along with this crazy plan. I know I’m not always the most _patient_ person, and I can be a _tad_ impulsive, but hey, I think this was worth it, right?” She looks straight at Newt, who gives her an uncharacteristically soft smile and nods. “Exactly. Anyway…

“I’ve never actually been to a wedding. Well, now I have. But I think it’s amazing, beautiful really, to see how much the two of you love each other. ‘Cause like Juliet said, it’s all about love. And, um…” She swallows, glancing down at the table and nervously fixing the doily under her plate. “I know there’s a lot of scary stuff going on right now. This may be the calm before the storm.

“I just always thought that love could make things a little better. I didn’t really know it ‘til I met Newt and Tina and all the rest of you. Not you, just — just Newt and Tina. Mainly. But figuratively… anyway.

“I dunno how we’re gonna do this, deal with the world. A lot of bad stuff has already happened, and a lot of stuff is still gonna happen. All I know is that right now, this moment is perfect. I mean, look at them, they’re disgusting,” and she looks fondly at Andy and Juliet, who are so sickeningly in love and content that it’s palpable. Someone in the back of the room whistles. "You can say _that_ again.

“In conclusion, Andy and Juliet, you’re just meant to be together. I know what I’m talking about, too. Tee knows it.” She gestures to Serenity, who gives a little smile and wave. “Thank you for sharing your love with us. Here’s to love and saving the world.”

“Cheers,” everyone says, and clinks glasses.

There are more sentimental toasts by the two brides, before a gorgeous wedding cake is brought out. The two of them cut the first slice in unison, Juliet smearing frosting all across Andy’s face, and everyone is laughing and warm and the baking is, of course, also phenomenal. Chairs are whisked away to make room for the dance floor and the band strikes up for Andy and Juliet's first waltz as a married couple.

Newt and Tina watch together, mesmerized by the sheer, almost heart-wrenching beauty of the love between the newlyweds. Tina glances over at Newt, and is startled to see his eyes glistening.

“You okay?” she asks softly.

He nods, then snakes his arm around her shoulders and pulls her tight against his side. “Thank you,” he murmurs.

“For what?”

He smiles gently. “Everything.”

Her heart does something strange. “You’re welcome, then,” she responds, and kisses him on the cheek. “It’s nice, isn’t it.”

“It is indeed. I actually haven’t been to a wedding before.”

Tina thinks for a moment. “Neither have I.”

“I daresay this is possibly the best wedding we could have chosen to attend.”

“Yeah, I don’t know if another one could top this,” Tina agrees. “You were a good best man,” she adds, grinning.

“You were a beautiful bridesmaid,” he replies. She blushes. You’d think she would have gotten used to it by now, but every time Newt calls her beautiful, or praises her without even meaning to, she still feels… well. Her childhood left a bit of a hole in her life, kind of like Juliet described in her vow. And every small act of love she receives from Newt seems to fill that void, little by little. Each argument — stupid and trivial, or necessary and important — is a lesson in trust. Each bad day is a study in patience. Each shared laugh, touch, look, joke, and smile is a lesson in love.

 _I love you._ She really should say it. She should. But it’s still too soon, she reminds herself. Definitely too soon. They’ve got a good thing going, her and Newt, and far be it from her to shatter it with a premature profession of love. Besides, as open as she’s been with him so far — practically laid bare her heart, for god’s sake — saying it out loud will make her completely, irrevocably vulnerable, and she isn’t ready for that.

The song ends, and other couples begin making their way onto the floor. Newt takes her hand wordlessly. He doesn’t even ask anymore; he just takes the leap and trusts that she’ll follow.

And she does.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you read, I hope you enjoyed! I really don't know why this chapter even happened. I had vague plans in the VERY initial stages of TWMLLO planning to ship Andy and Juliet at some point, but I had no idea it would pan out like this.
> 
> Also, McGonagall is, of course, related to our dear Minerva.
> 
> You can track #TWMLLO on Tumblr for updates on my fics! You can also add me on Snapchat @edye327 (I’m on and off there but I go through intense phases of posting constantly and people have said it’s the highlight of their day so).
> 
> Thank you for messages on Tumblr, which I've glanced over but not replied to. I'm not checking AO3 other than to post, but I look forward to reading comments when I come back full force :)


	71. Well, my heart stopped beating and my hands turned cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which it's Sophia's turn to be attacked. 
> 
> The last thing Sophia registers is a flash of Tina; a bellowed incantation; the sudden sensation of floating as the demiguise flies off her body; a lovely, relaxing calmness... before she hits the ground and the world fades to black.
> 
> Chapter title from “See That My Grave Is Kept Clean” by Blind Lemon Jefferson (1927)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Newt freaking out over his little sister getting hurt kills me. 
> 
> Also: irrelevant I'm so happy because yesterday my English teacher's mom came to visit (I ADORE my English teacher) and I stayed after and my teacher was like, "This is Edye, I've talked about her — she's an AMAZING writer" and she didn't even acknowledge when I was like "oh my god THANK you!" (with subtext "FJSIA89PEHA;KDJ;KGA"). Anyway, that meant a lot 'cause like, teachers praise me/my writing, but she did it so casually and factually that I don't think she was even trying to compliment me?

_Week 7, Friday_

Things go south on the second to last day of their voyage. The morning and afternoon are spent by Serenity and Newt working on his spellwork, Sophia running amok with Lilli, and Tina finding new friends in Andy, Juliet, and Grace. Everyone recognizes Sophia now and, depending on the person, casts her either warm and appreciative or frosty and disapproving glances.

Dinner in the first class saloon that evening is tremendously posh and also quite delicious. (Even Newt admits that the Scamander Island kitchen house-elves have some major competition in the _Wayfinder.)_ When a potential end-of-journey ball is brought up, Sophia thinks back to her first dance with Theseus and is hit by a wave of _missing_ him.

Never mind that.

After dinner, Sophia, Tina, and Newt put up the usual protection spells around the case and do one last check on the creatures. Sophia moves about happily, feeding the beasts and examining injuries. By now, pretty much all of them are in good shape, with only a handful needing a day or two to heal. Newt plans to set some of them free as soon as he concludes his research in Territory of New Guinea. Ultimately, he tells Sophia, he’d like to establish some sort of rehabilitation and research center for these creatures. For now, he has to make do with the suitcase.

Once the feeding and care have been tended to, Sophia does a second round to spend some actual quality time with the beasts, which she realizes with guilt has been in short supply recently. “Dougal,” she calls gently, walking around to the front of his nest. “Sorry I took so long, hope you ate up all the —” She doesn’t get to finish, because out of nowhere, the demiguise launches himself at her throat and begins strangling her.

Flailing around wildly, unable to shout and choking, Sophia attempts to fight him off, but he’s gone invisible and she can’t get a good grip. Her next tactic is to run for help; he lets go of her neck long enough to slip under her feet, so that she trips and lands on her stomach. She corkscrews frantically onto her back and tries to get up, but the demiguise latches on again, relentless. He covers her mouth with the paw not clamping down on her airway, attempting to smother her to death. Sparks begin to erupt before her eyes, pinpoints of light dancing across her vision, and _she cannot breathe._

The last thing Sophia registers is a flash of Tina; a bellowed incantation; a sudden sensation of floating as the demiguise flies off her body; a lovely, relaxing calmness... before she hits the ground and the world fades to black.

* * *

“Thank Paracelsus,” Newt says weakly as Sophia begins to stir. Tina had been forced to chain Dougal to a post outside Newt’s workshed; Newt sedated him, although the peculiar thing is that he was perfectly calm — even affectionate, if a bit dazed, with Newt and Tina — as soon as Sophia fell unconscious.

The assistant’s neck is covered in bruises. She has a few bleeding cuts and scratches from the tussle, but she’s breathing. When her eyes flutter open, she begins coughing and gasping violently. Tina stops Newt before he throws his arms around his assistant. “You don’t know if any bones are broken,” she reminds him.

“Right.” He leans over Sophia, feeling sick; she still looks incredibly disoriented as she coughs so hard the ground nearly vibrates with the force. “Is she okay?” he asks Tina panickedly.

Tina kneels down by Sophia’s body and nods. “Give her a minute to recover. Then we’ll need to check her, see if she can talk.”

Sophia’s chest heaves as she drinks in lungfuls of air, and finally some sort of alertness returns to her gaze. “Hey,” she croaks.

“Are you alright?” Newt asks urgently, leaning down and kissing her on the forehead in relief. “Can you breathe?”

“Mm. Just ducky,” she manages, but when she tries to turn her head towards him, she swears. “Hurts,” she explains, eyes squeezed shut.

“Tina?!” Newt looks to his girlfriend. Tina, bless her, remains calm.

“Okay, Soph,” she says, nudging Newt to the side and taking his spot. She’s assumed a grim yet confident expression: her Auror training is evidently kicking in. “Rotate your neck one more time.”

“Do I have to?” Sophia does anyway and swears again. She finds Newt’s hand, gripping it so hard his fingers almost break. He doesn’t mind.

“Can you swallow?” Tina asks.

Sophia attempts to, but ends up making a choking sound, followed by an agonized cry. “Nope,” she says shrilly, fighting back tears.

“Odynophagia,” Tina murmurs.

The term is vaguely familiar. Newt knows a great deal about anatomy, of course, although truth be told he’s always focused more on creatures than humans, and his purposes were more for study than medicine. Not to mention the fact that his (basically) little sister has almost been killed, which compromises his intellectual abilities somewhat. If he and Tina hadn’t been in the case… bloody hell. But he can’t go there now. He wouldn’t let Tina go there when Fairclaw attacked, so neither can he.

“Does this hurt?” Tina gingerly touches the front of Sophia’s neck, close to her chin. Sophia jackknifes from pain.

“Stop, Tina!” Newt says sharply, feeling Sophia’s nails dig into his skin. “Fix it!”

“I can’t fix it until I’m sure. If I use the wrong spell, I could hurt her more,” Tina snaps at him. “One more test, okay?”

“Don’t exactly have a choice,” Sophia says hoarsely. Leave it to her to be in excruciating pain, yet still making sarcastic comments.

“Stick out your tongue, real quick,” Tina says.

Sophia does and instantly begins suffocating. She draws it back into her mouth immediately, looking horrified.

“That’ll be the hyoid bone,” Tina decides. Newt is too busy trying to keep both himself and Sophia (well, mostly himself) calm to remember what that is. “Okay,” the Auror continues, still miraculously unperturbed, “this is gonna hurt a little, but then you’ll be able to breathe.”

“Swell,” Sophia mutters.

Tina places her wand tip just millimeters above the skin on Sophia’s throat, and begins uttering a series of incantations, her brow furrowed in concentration. Sophia tenses, clearly in pain, but after thirty seconds her grip on Newt’s fingers slackens, and she manages to sit up and move her head without swearing.

“Thank you,” she thanks Tina as she falls limply into Newt’s arms. He hugs her tightly, his heart rate slowly returning to normal.

“It’ll still swell, but we can deal with that,” Tina says, putting her wand away. Newt leans over and kisses her, because he will never stop being proud to bursting of his amazing... girlfriend. He really dislikes the term sometimes. Dumbledore was right: fiancée is much better. Better yet, wife.

“Well,” Sophia says after a few minutes pass in which Newt just sits and holds her, “that was eventful.” Then she frowns. “What are we gonna do about Dougal? Oh god, I didn’t even think — why would he _do_ that? It’s — Fairclaw —”

Newt is thinking the same thing, but both he and his girlfriend know that now is not the time to get worked up and start trying to investigate. “It’s okay,” Tina says quickly. “Let’s get you upstairs.”

They climb out of the case; Sophia is clearly trying to act fine, but she nearly trips stepping out and collapses onto the bed. “I’m good,” she says unconvincingly when Newt hovers over her anxiously.

“Maybe you should get Juliet and Andy,” Tina suggests. When Newt lingers, unwilling to leave Sophia’s side, she sighs. “I’ll be right back.”

She returns a few minutes later with the entire crew — Andy, Juliet, Grace, Serenity, and Lilli — who gather around Sophia.

“I’m fine,” Sophia insists.

“Let me see,” Juliet says gently, helping her into a sitting position.

“Oh yeah, No-Maj medicine,” Sophia remembers. “Any brilliant ideas?”

“Nothing that will be better than a charmed paste, probably,” Juliet admits, skimming her finger lightly across the bruised skin. “But I’ll stand by and keep an eye on you, just in case.” She turns to Andy. “Babe, if you and Grace wouldn’t mind going to the hospital wing? They might have something for bruising and swelling there.”

“Why didn’t you go there in the first place?” Serenity inquires as the two women leave.

“Well…” Tina looks at Newt, not entirely sure how much to discuss. Better to be safe than sorry.

They like Sophia’s new friends well enough, but Andy, being a government employee, is probably the only one they trust fully with this information. All that Tina had said was that one of the creatures got spooked and attacked Sophia, leaving them to assume that it was some sort of serpentine species that would wind itself around her neck. Not a sweet little demiguise, the last occupant of the suitcase in the _world_ to harm anyone.

“We didn’t have time,” Tina lies. It’s mostly true: they might not have been able to transport her safely to the hospital wing anyway.

“Oh.” Serenity nods, frowning down at her friend, who’s looking quite faint. “You okay, Soph?”

“Mm,” Sophia blatantly fibs. “Ducky. That was _so_ fun…”

“I’m sorry, Sophie,” Lilli says quietly. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

Sophia shakes her head. “I don’t mean to be rude, but couldja… leave me alone?” she asks in an uncharacteristically timid voice.

Everyone looks alarmed, especially Newt.

“Oh, not you,” Sophia scoffs. He visibly relaxes. “But, um…”

“Okay,” Lilli says quickly, gesturing for Serenity to follow her outside. “Feel better, Soph.”

“Do you want me to send Andy and Grace in with the paste?” Juliet asks. To her credit, she doesn’t appear to have taken the dismissal personally.

“Sure,” Tina says before Sophia can summon words. “Thank you.”

Juliet nods, then pats Sophia on the shoulder. “Feel better, hon.”

“Are you alright?” Newt asks urgently the moment Juliet leaves. He moves up the bed and puts a protective arm around Sophia. “Can you breathe?”

Her eyes are beginning to flutter shut. “Mmhm. Fine.”

“Sophia!” he barks, heart pounding with fear.

“What?” she asks blearily.

“Are you okay?”

“Yep.”

“I think she’s just tired,” Tina reassures him, and sits on Sophia’s other side. “But we’d better make sure she doesn’t fall asleep yet.”

“Don’t fall asleep,” Newt says urgently, shaking Sophia. It dawns on him that he’ll have to tell Mum and Theseus, as well as Sophia’s parents… even though she’s fine, it’s only the responsible thing to do. Based on her expression when she meets his eyes, Tina either arrives at the same conclusion or reads his mind, and she looks as helpless as he.

“We’ll have to tell them,” she confirms. “We can send owls from here, we just can’t get them. I can write it, if you want.”

He shakes his head wearily. “It was my fault.”

“Newt, no,” Tina says immediately, reaching for his hand. “It wasn’t anyone’s fault. It was… something’s not right.”

“I know,” he says, not even wanting to consider the implications of the attack itself. He was so fixated on making sure Sophia recovers that he briefly forgot about Dougal and Fairclaw. “It could not have been a coincidence this time,” Newt continues, shaking his head. “He has never displayed even remotely aggressive behavior. The way he acted was… disturbingly human.”

“What do you mean?” Tina asks softly.

“Demiguises do not, by nature, attack. They are peaceful herbivorous beasts, or at least they're supposed to be,” he answers.

“How could that have happened? We’re miles away from shore, nobody’s tampered with our room…”

He shrugs miserably and gives Sophia another firm shake as she starts to drift off. “I am at a loss,” he admits, running his fingers through his hair. The last few days have been something of a fairytale: him and Tina playing husband and wife (in his mind) on a luxurious boat trip, complete with an elegant, if impromptu, wedding. Now, it’s come to a screeching halt.

“We’ll figure it out,” Tina says firmly, leaning over and kissing him on the cheek, then the lips. “I promise.”

“I do hope you’re right,” he sighs, and shakes Sophia once more.

* * *

In the end, they bring Sophia to the hospital, where the ship’s nurses rule out any sort of head injury and label it sheer exhaustion instead. It is with the utmost caution that Newt allows Sophia to go to bed, and he insists on sleeping in her room as well — which mainly entails nearly biting off his fingernails in anxiety as he sits by her side until three in the morning. Tina comes in at this point, asking if he plans to come back to bed or at least get some sleep.

“Not particularly, no,” he says, leaning closer to make sure Sophia’s breathing.

Tina sighs, then seats herself on the arm of his chair. “Alright.”

“Oh,” he realizes, “you needn’t stay, I’ll be certain to call you if anything —”

“Relax, Newt,” Tina says, reaching down and interlacing their fingers. “I don’t mind. I love her too.”

Newt hums in assent, unable to come up with the right words to express the complete mess of emotions that he’s currently experiencing. Then, after a beat of hesitation, he tugs Tina down to sit on his lap, where she wordlessly curls up against his chest, fingers burying in his shirt, and shuts her eyes. He stretches his arm out so he has one hand resting atop Sophia’s: she seems so small, and young, and _fragile,_ like this, stripped of her normal blustering confidence. Tina seems to be asleep when he kisses her on the head and tries to pull her closer against him.

He hasn’t forgotten their destination; neither has she. This research on lethifolds could prove downright instrumental when it comes to understanding the rare and dangerous species — even dementors, to which they are possibly related. But lethifolds kill ruthlessly, not to mention that Grindelwald is still out there, and so is Lucille, and in general there are about a thousand ways this could all go wrong the second their feet touch land.

_I love you,_ he thinks, pressing his cheek against Tina’s forehead. He checks on Sophia one more time before finally falling asleep.

* * *

_Week 7, Saturday_

Sophia is much better by morning, although she complains wholeheartedly about the presence of Newt and his girlfriend _cuddling_ in her room when she wakes up.

“Gross!” she yells, aiming a kick at Newt’s knee. He jolts awake, knocking Tina askew, and in the end he and Tina are chased back to their room by an irascible (but recovered) Sophia.

He and his girlfriend pen a letter of explanation and send a copy to Scamander Island and New York as soon as they actually get up. He’s genuinely terrified to see which response will be angrier. Sophia suggests they place bets.

Andy and Juliet have decided to take a short honeymoon in Territory of New Guinea, having cancelled their appointment with the person who was originally going to marry them. “Then I suppose it’s back to the Ministry for me,” Andy says woefully over lunch. Juliet sighs. It would seem that Newt wasn't the only one who felt the bubble of a blissful detachment from reality pop.

They're set to arrive around four o'clock. By 3:30, everything has been packed up and passengers are getting ready on the deck. Newt and Tina are sad to say goodbye to their room and the memories associated with it, but Newt privately prefers the guest house anyway. It's more... homey. They still haven’t discussed Dougal’s attack at length; a check this morning yielded a completely pacified demiguise who seems not to have even a _memory_ of his murder attempt.

Juliet suggests that he was just being aggressive. However, Newt, Tina, and Sophia agree that he was aiming to kill. “He was literally trying to strangle me,” Sophia explains. The bruises on her neck have faded, but it still hurts when she turns her head and she's not 100% herself. “And when I say literally, I _actually_ mean literally. He tried to smother me, too, when I was fighting him off. I dunno what’s going on.”

“I’ll talk to Hector and Emmeline about it when I get back,” Andy proposes.

“No,” Newt says in alarm, remembering Emmeline’s incredibly anti-creature agenda. He explains their conversation about Fairclaw.

“I wish I could say I’m surprised,” Andy responds darkly. “I’ll see what I can do, though.”

“You’re sure you’ll be safe, going after lethifolds?” Juliet asks Newt anxiously.

“I’ve been asking the same question ever since he brought it up,” Tina says wryly, reaching for his hand.

“Worrying means you suffer twice,” Newt reminds her.

“Mom said that, by the way,” Sophia feels compelled to inform the table. “Just in case you thought Newt was witty.”

“We would never think _that,”_ Andy says, winking at Newt.

“I’m glad to see you are back to tormenting me,” he tells Sophia, and pats her on the head.

The ship slows, land approaching rapidly in the distance. A few moments later — magic really does get one from point A to B quite efficiently — they’ve come to a full stop and are greeted by the sight of wizarding customs.

Getting off the ship is a bit of a struggle with 5,000 passengers. When priority disembarking is called, Newt, Tina, and Sophia have to say goodbye to the others, who are not first class. Newt thanks Serenity, forgives Lilli for mistaking him for Sophia’s boyfriend, and congratulates Andy and Juliet again. Sophia distributes boisterous goodbye hugs all around.

“It was a swell time,” she says, beaming, once each of her friends has been throttled in turn. “I’ll miss ya.”

“Thank you,” Tina says warmly, shaking everyone’s hands. She looks at Newt and Sophia and takes a deep breath. “Ready?”

_For what?_ Newt wonders. His girlfriend meets his eyes. _For whatever lies ahead._ In an act she's never done before, and which surprises them all, Sophia takes his hand a little nervously. The attack really seems to have shaken her up, he notices in dismay. She's much jumpier and visibly nervous than before. He squeezes her hand comfortingly and nods. “Ready.”

* * *

_My theory when it comes to Healing is that Aurors learn intermediate-level spells in their training. Unfortunately, it isn’t as easy as “use this spell and fix any broken bones” (which most untrained wizards can do by adulthood) as some bones are more fragile — and some breaks are more serious — than others. Fixing a hyoid bone fracture is much more painstaking than fixing a broken femur or ulna. Using the wrong spell (there are a cluster of Healing spells for various regions, such as the throat/neck area) could have further damaged Sophia’s airway._

_I don’t like magic to be too easy, and I figure that it would be similar to today, where anyone can take a basic first aid/CPR class, but there are higher levels of advanced medicine practice. Aurors may receive training more akin to the advanced emergency medical skill set training they are now starting to give police officers (this Muggle training will include things like trauma kits, applying a tourniquet, using occlusive dressings, inserting nasopharyngeal airways, needle decompression for relieving a tension pneumothorax, etc.). Except, of course, they learn the magical versions of those skills._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Casually did a ton of research on strangulation for this chapter. If there’s a murder by strangulation and anybody checks my browsing history I’m probably going to be a number one suspect. I also researched hyoid bone fractures. If there are any medical people reading this, please don’t kill me if I got something wrong.
> 
> Tbh William Moseley and Georgie Henley have been lowkey my sibling relationship goals/inspiration ever since _The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe_ came out and I memorized the massive behind-the-scenes book that I forced my mom to get me. So I like lowkey think of them, especially when Sophia reaches for Newt's hand.


	72. Down in my heart, I have an aching pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which scathing letters about Newt endangering Sophia are received (*cough*Theseus*cough*), nobody is in a good mood, and Newt and Tina don't like to say goodbye.
> 
> “First of all, they’re sending backup! And second of all, you’re the one diving head first into the territory of man-eating creatures, all for a stupid —” Tina snaps her mouth shut.
> 
> “A stupid book?” Newt says tightly. “If that is really what you think of me, then today is a very sad day.” Like that, he turns on his heel and walks out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
> 
> Chapter title from “How Long, How Long Blues” by Leroy Carr and Scrapper Blackwell (1928)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the woeful absence of Newtina chapters (sorry fam I get really into the action and OCs too), I thought I’d give y’all some proper Newtina angst. 
> 
> Oh, and I hope you enjoy reading letters as much as I enjoy writing them. Good ol’ Seraphina’s back too. Fun fact, I legit wrote all of these letter exchanges over a couple weeks of precalc. I think my teacher is onto me, but I’ve been acing the homework and tests so it’s cool.
> 
> Longish character reflection at the end.
> 
> Also it's a long weekend and I'm impatient/feeling generous so I think I might post the chapter after this, which is quite short in comparison.

The second they get off the ship, a wizarding customs official marches over to the trio with an air of great disgruntlement.

“Are you the Scamanders?” he asks brusquely.

“I’m Tina Goldstein —” Tina starts, but he clearly couldn’t care less.

“These letters are for you,” the official says, handing them aggressively to Newt. “They came yesterday with the _audacious_ request for us to deliver them as soon as you arrived. Please note that we are _not_ a postal service or owlery, and we will not do this again. Mr. Scamander,” he adds, in an obvious attempt to act somewhat civil. He pauses. “We are great fans of your book, and thank you for coming all this way to visit us.”

Newt glances down; the top envelope bears his brother’s handwriting, and the MACUSA insignia peeks out from underneath. Oh, this can't be good.

Tina thanks the official politely and shepherds them all to the side, where Newt opens his letters, handing one to Tina.

* * *

Newton,

Have you lost your MIND?! Your ONE job was to keep Sophia safe! ONE BLOODY JOB!!!! You are INCREDIBLY fortunate that your girlfriend saved her, because if she had not, you would have had to answer NOT ONLY to Mr. and Mrs. Ollerton but also Mum AND myself. Mum might be more forgiving, but believe you me, I would NOT.

Tread carefully, brother. If Sophie does not return home in one piece, you will have a VERY angry war hero to face.

I MEAN IT.

-Theseus

* * *

Dear Newton,

I’m not sure what your brother might have said to you, but whatever it is, please excuse him. He was quite agitated when he got the news.

We have tried to keep the situation under wraps. I am certain Ignotus might have a conniption if he finds out that another attack occurred, although at least this time you are thousands of miles away from the island.

I’m relieved to hear that Sophia is alright. And no, I do not blame you. Neither does Theseus, deep down. He’s just very rattled by the news as I think he’s grown exceptionally fond of Sophia in their time together. Give her a kiss for me.

Please also tell Tina I am exceedingly proud of her. I would send her a letter myself, but Theseus is demanding that we post these RIGHT this instant, so I only have a minute.

I do hope you plan to marry her sooner rather than later. Just a mother’s opinion.

Love,

Mum

* * *

Mr. Scamander,

Really?

Seraphina Picquery

President of the — forget it. You never fail to disregard my authority anyway.

P.S. I am immensely relieved that Miss Ollerton is alive. I trust that your brother has exchanged words with you about this development. Although it does not threaten the country or even wizardkind, I regret to say that I do have a heart and inexplicably care a great deal for your family. I am unspeakably displeased that you could have allowed such a thing to happen. On a magical ocean liner, no less!

* * *

Dear Newt,

I don’t even know what to say to you. I do have half a rational mind to retrieve Sophia immediately, but begrudgingly admit that the fight she might put up would ultimately be more injurious and taxing than another attack.

In the meantime, I’ll try to keep George’s head from popping off or otherwise exploding.

But you only get three strikes when it comes to my daughter’s wellbeing. MACUSA was one, this was a second. I very much hope there will not be a third.

Emilia

* * *

Dear Tina,

Good lord. Thank you, first of all, for saving Sophie. Second of all, PLEASE chastise Newton MOST severely, and mince NO words. I have posted a scathing letter to him, which I am concerned he may disregard, and unfortunately I am unable to be present to speak with him myself. Mum stopped me from sending a Howler, deeming it “too disruptive” given that Sophia is okay.

But this should not have happened in the FIRST place.

In the future, I would be much obliged if you agreed to keep a closer eye on Sophie for me. And for Mum and her parents, of course. But especially for me. Please.

Lastly, please do not tell her I talked with you or Newt. She is so terribly independent I fear she might Apparate back here and assault me for worrying.

You all be safe now (including my idiot brother).

Love,

Theseus

* * *

_Week 7, Sunday_

Theseus,

Merlin’s pants. I do believe that’s the least pleasant letter I have ever received from you. Might I point out that it was not my fault, nor negligence — I was IN the case when it happened. I resent the implication that I would be incapable of looking after my own little sister. Until now, she has been much safer than Tina or myself. At least she isn’t being hunted down by a murderer known to be affiliated with Gellert Grindelwald.

Give my love to Mum. And perhaps accidentally shove Ignotus Pembroke into the lake.

-Newt

* * *

Dear Madam Picquery,

I have the utmost respect for your authority. I haven’t the faintest what you might be implying.

Sophia is fine. We are all recuperating and staying out of trouble, although I will admit that “staying out of trouble” is a risky business when it comes to us. However, we are well prepared for potential trouble.

I am glad to know that you have a heart. And we are not a family.

Yet.

Sincerely,

Newt

* * *

Dear Theseus,

Don’t worry, I talked to him. But in his defense, he was in the case when it happened. I was just closer to her.

I’m worried, Theseus. Someone is out to get Newt. I don’t know if it’s Lucille. Maybe they’re out to get all of us. We haven’t talked about it much still, because I think Newt was more upset about this than I’ve seen him upset about anything (except possibly that time I disappeared on him), but I don’t know.

I’m pretty sure the attack was meant for Newt. They’re using his creatures to get to him. I don’t think it has to do with the creatures, though. I think they’re after something else.

Give my love to your mom. We’ll keep you posted. And don’t worry, I won’t let anything happen to your Sophia.

Love,

Tina

* * *

Dear Theseus,

I don’t know what anyone’s told you ‘cause I’ve been quarantined ever since that dumb attack. But I just wanted to let you know that I’m totally fine. Good gravy, the amount of fussing Newt and Tina have done since then... they’ll be tremendous, overbearing parents, I’m sure. Have you ever seen Newt FUSS? Yeah, me neither, until this happened. It’s awful. They’re keeping me captive in the hotel room and I can’t go anywhere. SAVE ME!!!

I miss you. Hope you’re having a good time with Mom and taking care of everyone.

Love,

Sophie

* * *

_Week 8, Monday_

Dear Tina,

She is not “my” Sophia.

-Theseus

* * *

Dear Sophie,

Please do not strike me dead for saying that I rather support my brother’s fussing. I can only imagine how dreadful it must be, though. I hope that you have been released by now, and that this letter finds you well.

I do wish I could be there to work out whatever is happening with/to the creatures. We made a splendid investigatory team, despite the fact that we discovered next to nothing. At any rate, please stay safe. It is a simple request which you and your travel companions still seem incapable of fulfilling.

I miss you too.

Love,

Theseus

* * *

They’re just sitting down for breakfast at the inn when an owl bursts violently through the window, shattering it, and drops a bright red envelope on Newt’s lap.

“A HOWLER?!” Sophia says loudly. Several people glance over at her. She can’t help but be _slightly_ gleeful at the prospect of her big brother getting in trouble. “Go on, open it, I bet it’s from Mom.”

Newt looks helplessly at Tina, who pats him reassuringly on the knee, though she isn’t as concerned or indignant as he evidently expected her to be. “Open it now,” she advises him.

Sucking in a breath, Newt slowly slits open the envelope.

George Ollerton’s voice reverberates around the small dining room.

 _HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND? BECAUSE SON, I WILL HELP YOU FIND IT! SENDING MY DAUGHTER TO MACUSA ONCE WASN’T ENOUGH, WAS IT? NEITHER WAS DRAGGING HER ONTO YOUR DAMN ISLAND WHILE YOUR DAMN GIRLFRIEND WAS HELD CAPTIVE BY A DAMN MURDERER AND YOU NEARLY DIED FROM A DAMN HIPPOGRIFF, ALL WHILE PEOPLE ARE DYING EVERY WHICH WAY AND I HAVEN’T EVEN SEEN MY DAUGHTER IN MONTHS!_ A faint voice in the background murmurs something, ostensibly pointing out that it hasn't actually been months. _IN WEEKS, THEN!_

There's a brief pause in which Newt hopes it's over, but no such luck.

 _WHAT IN THE NAME OF DELIVERANCE DANE WOULD POSSESS YOU TO ALLOW MY DAUGHTER TO GO TRAIPSING AROUND WHEN THERE ARE BELLIGERENT ANIMALS WAITING TO STRIKE? I HEREBY_ **_RESCIND_ ** _MY TRUST._

 _EMILIA IS THE ONLY THING KEEPING ME FROM GOING OVER THERE RIGHT NOW AND TAKING HER BACK INTO MY CUSTODY. THAT, AND THE FACT THAT I HAVE A STEADY, IMPORTANT JOB AT MACUSA, UNLIKE YOU! MADAM PICQUERY WILL BE HEARING ABOUT THIS!_ Another mumbled comment. _SHE HAS ALREADY HEARD ABOUT THIS, AND I’M SURE SHE’S NONE TOO PLEASED!_

“Do Howlers have a time limit?” Newt asks weakly.

 _TREAD VERY VERY_ **_VERY_ ** _CAREFULLY, NEWT SCAMANDER. I WILL NOT HESITATE TO REMOVE MY DAUGHTER FROM THE LIKES OF AN INCOMPETENT, UNTRUSTWORTHY, RECKLESS MAN SUCH AS YOU. GOOD DAY._

The Howler finally bursts into flames, and ashes gracefully drift down to land on Newt’s eggs.

“So I guess he wasn’t happy,” Sophia says through a mouthful of toast.

“I don’t know what to say,” Newt admits, staring at his now-ruined breakfast. He’d frozen initially, slightly shocked at his first Howler being quite so abrasive, and of course George’s words sting. Then again... “He _is_ correct, at least in a sense.”

“He’s not,” Sophia says stoutly. “It wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t’ve prevented it.”

“I suppose,” Newt sighs. “I suspect the attack took a toll on us all.”

Tina and Sophia exchange glances. Although Tina, Auror that she is, has kept it together quite well, even she looks a little more pale and drawn lately. Since arriving, they’ve only relaxed while Newt draws up maps, plans for his mission, and grows increasingly stressed, which, as usual, is beginning to affect his travel companions as well.

As he mentioned once to Sophia, Newt intends to begin by scoping out the littoral forests of the island. Nobody knows precisely which areas of the territory are home to lethifolds, a species which may or may not be nomadic, but seeing as the creatures are not exclusively aquatic he shies away from swamp forests and wetlands. The littoral forest’s sand dunes and barren land, combined with estuaries and thick vegetation, strike Newt as ideal lethifold real estate.

What’s more, there are a plethora of unmapped areas across the island, where longshore drift has moved sediment onto the shoreline and there exists a stunning array of flora and fauna. Much as Newt is very fond of his beasts, he feels as though he’s babysat this particular group long enough and is eager to take on some new charges. Yes, lethifolds are potentially lethal, and yes, he may be throwing himself into danger just a _smidge._ But he lives and breathes to study, save, protect, learn, and educate, and Territory of New Guinea is a perfect arena.

It’s difficult not to be a _little_ excited.

* * *

_Week 8, Tuesday_

Sophia ultimately decides not to partake in Newt’s research trip, at least this time around. She _wants_ to go with him, but truth be told she’s getting a very unsettling vibe from this place. It’s too quiet, too humid, and people stare. She isn’t usually scared — which is precisely what scares her.

That morning, Tina receives a desperate letter from the Ministry of Magic, followed by an even more desperate one from Seraphina. There’s been a smuggler situation elsewhere in Oceania; she’s the only Auror in the vicinity, and while they’re planning to dispatch as soon as resources become available, the scene requires immediate attention.

She doesn’t want to leave Newt any more than Sophia does. At the same time, he’s highly trained, he has a wand, and duty does call. And so she squares her shoulders and gets ready for confrontation. By the time they eat, she’s remarkably composed.

Newt, on the other hand, has grown extremely high strung. After breakfast, he gives only brusque, snappish responses, blatantly _ignores_ Sophia, and promptly stands on the balcony of their room, staring out across the island and looking considerably less calm than he did to begin with.

The truth is, Sophia’s near miss and the eery atmosphere are equally off putting to him. As such, he has resolved to collect his data and observations, make a few hurried sketches, and get his girlfriend and assistant out of here. They’ll have to return to Scamander Island, of course, but past that... well, even though they’re miles from home (both New York and England), there’s no way Grindelwald’s followers will have eased off in their absence.

All of this contributes to his patience being worn so thin as to be completely nonexistent, and when Tina casually asks Newt if he’s seen her MACUSA badge, he explodes.

“I thought it was _your_ responsibility to keep track of your things!” he shouts at her, spinning around and slamming the door to the balcony. “How am I supposed to trust _you_ with anything if all you do is lose badges and — and Merlin knows _what_ else —”

“Are you serious?” Tina asks incredulously, crossing her arms. “Newt, I was just asking. I must have misplaced it.”

“We don’t have time for misplacing things!” Newt blusters. He doesn’t actually _care_ about her badge, of course. He isn’t even sure what he cares about anymore. “And there you go again, running into a dangerous situation _with no backup_ and not even your _effing_ badge —”

Tina’s face turns stony. “First of all, they’re _sending_ backup! _I’m_ just a first responder, and we are _not_ going to get into another discussion about how that’s my _job._ And second of all, _you’re_ the one diving head first into the territory of man-eating creatures, all for a stupid —” She snaps her mouth shut.

“A stupid book?” Newt says tightly. “If that is really what you think of me, then today is a _very_ sad day.” Like that, he turns on his heel and walks out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

* * *

Tina’s hands shake as she moves Sophia’s bag to the side and, lo and behold, uncovers her goddamn badge. She hadn’t meant it: he has to know she hadn’t meant it. She loves him for his work and his dedication. It’s only that she also can’t afford to lose him — lose _anyone,_ but especially him — and throughout this entire process he has given next to no regard for how she might feel about it. Sophia was the only one privy to the planning at all, and ever since she was attacked, he hasn’t spoken to her about it either.

Tina understands that Newt has a passion for his creatures. She does. What she doesn’t understand is why he has to do this at such a bad time. Of course, there never seems to be a particularly _good_ time nowadays, but the point still stands. Right?

They can’t get angry at each other for this, she reminds herself, and thinks back to what feels like a lifetime ago, when the same realization hit her as she sat on the couch with Newt’s head cradled in her lap. Juliet had said it loud and clear: it’s about love. It may sound downright foolish to try to bank on love overcoming evil, and perhaps it is. But at the very least, anger is _not_ the emotion that should be dwelled upon right now.

Tina grabs her badge and her wand, then runs out the door to find Newt. Thankfully, he hasn’t left yet and is standing in the courtyard, looking a mixture of lost and distressed, when she skids to a stop. “Newt,” she says breathlessly, grabbing his wrist. He turns towards her. “I’m sorry.”

“I am too,” he whispers, and draws her into his arms. They breathe in unison for a moment, holding each other. He notches his chin over her shoulder and tightens his grasp as though he can’t quite get close enough, just as he’d done at their first ball together.

“I...” Tina says when they pull apart. _I love you._

He touches her cheek. “I know,” he says then, and she starts because she isn’t sure what he thought she was going to say. Probably not _that,_ or else he would follow it up with a “me too.” Hopefully. Instead, he pledges, “I’ll be safe.”

Oh. “I found my badge, by the way,” Tina says, flashing him a smile.

He shakes his head, smirking. “Excellent. I, erm... I’m glad to see my favorite investigator is properly outfitted.”

“I am,” Tina says softly, tilting her head as they gaze at one another. A montage of their relationship blooms (unsolicitedly, she might add) in her mind’s eye, from her first glimpse at him at the bank to when he showed up at the apartment two months ago, to her breakdown and their first kiss and the arguments and dances and laughter in between — all leading up to now. “Thank you, Newt,” she says, taking a step closer.

“For what?”

“For... being there.” Then she flinches, Alec’s face flashing unsolicitedly in her vision, his voice echoing in her ears.

One of these days, she will move on. One of these days, she won’t think about him anymore. But she can’t say how long it might take before she stops recalling his betrayal and her broken heart every time Newt reminds her that he’s there. That he won’t leave.

He seems to know exactly what she’s thinking. That’s something too: once upon a time, they were caught up in awkwardness and fumbling uncertainty, each of their thoughts written in unfamiliar runes left for Sophia and Queenie to parse out and translate. Now... it’s not perfect. They’ll have fights and misunderstandings like any other couple. But they’re radically more in sync than they once were — than she ever suspected she might be.

She doesn’t want to lose that.

But, as a snide voice reminds her, she and Alec had been like that too. Finishing each other’s sentences, forging inside jokes...

“I am not him,” Newt says quietly.

“I know,” she whispers. “I know.”

Oddly, he hesitates, eyes flitting around as though he doesn’t quite know where to look. Everything from his posture to the slightly nervous smile reminds her achingly of their first (and hopefully only) goodbye. “I think I’d like to kiss you now, if I may,” he says. “And I _am_ very glad that you found —”

He doesn’t finish, because Tina throws her arms around this wonderful, caring, sensitive man and kisses him with the same desperation and urgency that seems now to be slipping through every crack and crevice of the world. They’re both slightly breathless when they reluctantly break apart. Neither one wants to let go of the other’s hands... but unfortunately, time is ticking and grim reality waits for no man. Tina wills herself not to cry and relinquishes her grip.

(Honestly, when did she become so emotional? _Probably since someone tried to kill you and your boyfriend and actually killed like a bunch of your friends and the world is having this kind of major issue where people keep getting murdered,_ Sophia had astutely answered the other day.)

“Be safe,” Tina calls, taking several hesitant steps backwards.

Newt visibly attempts to produce words, but his mouth forms only partial syllables. Tina isn’t sure what exactly he’s feeling as he suddenly, intensely, brings his eyes up to meet hers, and she’s momentarily disconcerted.

“Okay then,” she says after a beat, turning to leave, but in one swift stride Newt closes the space between them and tugs her back into his embrace one last time.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. “I couldn’t quite bear it.”

“Bear what?” she asks, stroking a hand through his hair.

“The being apart,” he replies.

“Oh, Newt. It’ll be fine.” Maybe.

“I hope so.” He sighs and pulls away, cradling her face in his hands. “I really do.”

It’s not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still haven’t checked my inbox (I’m being quite cautious about not getting too wrapped up and insecure about my writing, so I’m keeping AO3 at arm’s length) but I’ve glanced at the count on my dash and I’m thrilled to see that I’m receiving new comments :) I can’t wait to read them eventually!
> 
> Also: no, Newt didn’t just turn into an insecure jellyfish. One of his very first fears was that Tina would think he’d try to take advantage of her/turn into someone like Alec. So, in moment where he realizes she’s vulnerable, he does the (decent, if unnecessary) thing and makes absolute certain that he doesn't inadvertently force himself upon her.
> 
> I know it’s been years since that Alec stuff happened, but 1. it was pretty fucked up, 2. she hasn’t had basically any relationships in between to help her move on, and 3. he was her first love, and no matter how things turn out, people generally remember their first love.
> 
> Personally, I still think about the real life Alec, despite how much he hurt me and despite passage of time. I don’t think that’ll go away anytime soon, and it’s definitely impacted me and the way I approach relationships (aka, not at all lmao). So I think it’s valid for that to still crop up sometimes for her, just in certain situations.
> 
> Get psyched for the next chapter, because Frida is about to make a TRULY spectacular reappearance.


	73. I got two white horses following me, waiting on my burying ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lucille's family is sketchy, Frida is... *gestures vaguely* and shit gets serious.
> 
> She watches as Newt takes several stumbling steps backwards.
> 
> She watches as the lethifold pounces.
> 
> A voice thunders inside her head, unbidden.
> 
> Save Lucille. 
> 
> This is not saving Lucille. This is not her mission.
> 
> Chapter title from “See That My Grave Is Kept Clean” by Blind Lemon Jefferson (1927)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is short on purpose, which is why I'm posting two chapters today.
> 
> Come talk to me on Instagram! @edyebenedict
> 
> I'm taking a break from tumblr for now but I'll check messages there too @academla :)
> 
> Note: although lethifolds are carnivores who usually suffocate and digest humans, and only rumored to be related to dementors, I decided to make them share dementor-like qualities (such as soul-sucking). It's a fact that the only known defense against them is the Patronus Charm, however.

Newt lands on site as the sun beats down on the sand. It’s almost as quiet here as it was at the inn, except there are small noises as animals scurry around in the brush and a gentle wind sweeps over the terrain. Strangely, the fog that’s been plaguing Newt seems to have lifted, despite the fact that he may very well be surrounded by cousins of dementors. Anyway, it’s broad daylight: for a lethifold to reveal itself now would be unheard of. Instead, he prepares himself to scour the area for clues, construct his own map, and decide where to go from there.

The thing is, just because something would be unheard of doesn’t mean it won’t happen.

* * *

Miles away, an owl wiggles through a vent in the ceiling to deliver a letter. Lucille eyes it distrustfully; it coos, flaps its wings, and even seems to incline its head.

Perhaps it’s from Frida, who did promise to stay in touch while in Territory of New Guinea. Frankly, Lucille found the prospect of travel too nerve-wracking to bother with. She has loose ends to tie up here anyway.

And a certain level of avoidance may be prevailing...

Some things, however, are inescapable.

Cautiously, she unfolds the letter.

> Luce,
> 
> The Ministry came knocking on our door last night. Someone gave us away. Mum and Dad have been taken in for interrogation. The Ministry threatened to go to Hogwarts and question Angie as well. It isn’t her fault, none of this, and I’m terrified of what they might do to her. You know none of us did anything. We don’t know who told.
> 
> Oh, Lu, it isn’t fair! Gwenny’s barely been buried and horrible things keep happening.
> 
> Remember when we were just kids? Me and Cal were talking about it. He said he knew about you and Richard, but you never told us.
> 
> Luce, you’re the best big sister ever. Truly. I know things didn’t go great at school but I still looked up to you as the bravest, most beautiful person I knew. I still do — or would, if you would stop pushing us all away.
> 
> I don’t know where you are. Hughie thought he heard your name in town, but we don’t know who to trust in the news these days.
> 
> We trust you.
> 
> You kept us safe when we were little. Is it too much to ask if you could keep us safe now?
> 
> Please come back.
> 
> Love,
> 
> Esmeralda

Lucille kills the owl with trembling hands, tears stinging her eyes.

* * *

It’s serendipitous, really, that Frida should stumble upon Newt during her own mostly recreational exploration. She, of course, made it to Territory of New Guinea herself, but in light of Lucille’s silence has decided to lay low. It’s Lucille’s job to call the shots; she’s just the assassin.

There’s a moment in which Frida almost wants to reveal herself. She doesn’t know why, or what on earth she might say. Plus, Newt would recognize her instantly, and that could be downright calamitous. Now is not the time.

Still, the fraction of a second’s hesitation throws her off. _No contact with the targets. Kill and leave._ It’s an assassin’s rule for a reason.

She hides in the vegetation, peering through thick leaves to watch the magizoologist go about his business. It’s all part of the plan. _He’s_ part of the plan. An essential part, if Lucille and her informants are to be believed.

Lucille.

Frida wonders about her. Offering emotional support was not at all uncalled for, despite the admittedly poor reception. The woman needs it desperately. Whether she will ever be able to acknowledge or accept it is another matter. And it does bother Frida, that she cannot reveal her source to Lucille. But if Lucille finds out, the life of an entirely innocent and _good_ person, who hasn't a clue, will no doubt be endangered.

She doesn’t mind killing, Frida muses as Newt moves around the area, lost in thought. For her, it’s a game, but not the sort that her employer enjoys. There is simply some sadistic part of her, with which she must have been born, that relishes in the power she wields as an assassin, and thus murder doesn’t perturb her in the slightest. Neither does death. She will stay here as long as necessary, but far be it from her to put up a fight when her time on this earth has ended.

Far be it from her to care.

At any rate. She is not here to kill — yet.

She ponders this for a moment, then looks out of the vegetation again.

In the same instant as she realizes that Newt’s wand has gone missing — it must have fallen out of his pocket and rolled out of sight somehow — she sees the lethifold. It’s a terrifying black mass that looks like evil in its corporeal form. And it’s headed straight for Newt.

This was not part of the plan.

Frida watches, heart pounding, as the lethifold creeps up on Newt from behind.

She watches as he jots something in his journal, shakes his head, and crosses it out.

She watches as the creature undulates silently towards its target.

She watches as it flaps its bizarre wings, if they can be called that, and sends a gust of air across Newt’s ankles.

She watches as Newt turns around at the sensation, eyes widening.

She watches as he scrabbles for his wand, then realizes that it isn’t there.

She watches as he takes several stumbling steps backwards.

She watches as the lethifold pounces.

She flinches, instinctively closing her eyes and blocking her ears to his cries.

A voice thunders inside her head, unbidden.

_An honest woman’s pain._

It echoes.

_Pain, pain, pain._

Then the most important words that this voice ever spoke to her — words which have shaped her life for the past three years, words which she will never be able to forget — resound.

_Save Lucille._

This is not saving Lucille. This is not her mission.

Frida grabs her wand and aims it at the beast, bellowing, _“Expecto Patronum!”_

A silver ermine launches itself at the lethifold. The creature shrieks, blinded by the light, and flees. She doesn’t see where it goes.

Glancing around to make sure the area is clear of witnesses, Frida hurries to Newt’s side. He’s unconscious, already gaunt and wasted, but breathing, his soul at least partially intact.

She recovers his wand only a few meters away and places it gently in his hand, then points her own skyward, sending bright red sparks high into the air: a distress signal she knows was arranged before Newt set out on his quest. Then she murmurs, _“Obliviate,”_ just in case he was going to recall this — recall her. She casts a False Memory Charm for good measure, so that when asked, he will remember having his wand and producing the patronus that saved his life.

That is who she is now, Frida realizes. What she has become. The assassin that saved a man’s life.

She takes one last look at the scene and disappears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh damn so many questions! What’s up with Lucille’s family? Who gave what away (if you read closely, something about this was hinted several — and with the length of this fic, I mean SEVERAL — chapters ago, in another letter from Esmeralda)? What about Richard (also mentioned at one point; that’s an obvious one, so you can go find the answer yourself)? Whose voice is that in Frida’s head? How would Newt recognize her? Who’s going to actually find Newt now? Good guys or bad guys? Like actually bro, what is happening?


	74. Now the doctor's gonna do all that he can

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Theseus places all his faith in Tina, and Tina (hopefully) delivers.
> 
> “Sir, you do know there is a chance he —”
> 
> “I am well aware,” Theseus says through clenched teeth.
> 
> “I won't mince words. It would take something of a miracle now to bring him out of this.”
> 
> “You haven't met Tina,” Theseus says.
> 
> Chapter title from “Crazy Blues” by Perry Bradford (1920)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a really, really weak spot for sick!Newt and Tina taking care of each other.
> 
> Yes, he already sustained an attack, but they were two separate instances and individually important for plot, so I promise I'm not being sadistic.
> 
> I related the entire ending of the story to my parents at dinner last night so, you know, if I fall dead tomorrow send someone to ask them and they'll tell you. (They were into it!)
> 
> Fun fact! This is another one of those scenes I wrote a LONG time ago before anything was planned. I probably wrote this around chapter 20. So. Nostalgia!

> Dear Mr. Scamander,
> 
> This letter is to inform you that your brother, Newton Artemis Fido Scamander, was discovered today in Territory of New Guinea after sustaining a serious lethifold attack. There are no witnesses and it is impossible to discern the severity of his injuries at this time. We are transporting him to Curare Chapel now, as it is closest his last known location (Scamander Island).
> 
> Regretfully,
> 
> Coralina Fischer
> 
> _Supervisor, Curare Chapel_

Theseus stares down in horror at the paper. His first thought is Elsie; his second thought is Tina. Tina is still all the way in Territory of New Guinea — of _course_ they took him away; they probably assumed he was alone — and Elsie can’t leave. Could he have Newt transported to Scamander Manor? No, too risky; they’ll have to figure out how bad it is first.

He throws on his shoes, gritty sand scratching the soles of his feet, and races for the manor. The problem with such a massive house is that you could walk a mile and still not find whomever you’re looking for.

“Mum!” he yells desperately, counting on the ears of a mother to magically pick up on the voice of a distressed son. “Mum!”

Sure enough, she comes running down the hallway. “What?” she asks, already looking panicked.

“Mum, it’s Newt,” he says, panting, and shows her the letter. Her face goes white; her hands, trembling, come up to cover her mouth in horror. “It’s okay, Mum,” he reassures her quickly, gathering her into his arms. “I will go. You cannot leave right now. We need you here.”

“Oh, Newton…”

He tries to quell the storm inside his chest. “I know. I know. It will be alright,” he says, and pulls away from her. She’s already set her jaw and, though pale as a ghost, has not tried to argue that she should stay. Any other mother would insist upon leaving to be with her injured son, but Elsie understands. The best thing she can do for Newt is to make sure at least one part of his life stays intact. “I love you,” he says quickly, kissing her on the cheek.

“Theseus,” she grabs him by the arm. “Get Tina.”

He nods, turns around, and Disapparates.

* * *

He lands in the lobby of Curare. A group of Healers are waiting expectantly for him; one of them, whose name he learns is Ellen Sedgwick, steps forward.

“Come with me, Mr. Scamander.”

Feeling as though he might throw up, Theseus follows, praying that it won’t be that bad, it won’t be…

“Here he is,” Ellen says promptly, and opens the door.

Newt is lying on the bed, looking wasted and sick, covered up with bandages and breathing shakily. “What did you do?” Theseus asks, jaw twitching.

“We’ve had to regrow five shattered bones, Replenish several liters of blood, repair damage to his lungs, and Heal some minor abrasions. It attempted to suffocate and digest him — it’s remarkable that he was able to produce a Patronus Charm while under attack. But it isn’t his body, anymore, sir. His body will heal. It’s his mind. His soul.”

Bloody hell. “How long did you wait to contact me?”

Ellen hesitates. “It was imperative that we —”

“Imperative?” he bellows, anger burning in the pit of his belly. “Imperative that you _wait_ to tell me? To tell anyone? How long?”

“Sir —”

“How. Long. Has he been like this,” he says in a dangerously low voice.

“About six hours, sir.” She purses her lips and bows her head meekly.

 _Six bloody hours. Pick your battles, Theseus. Pick your_ effing _battles._ “Fine,” he says, trying very hard to keep his voice level. He moves closer to his brother, kneels down by his head. The physical treatment is working; even as Theseus watches, Newt’s breathing is improving, and some of the abrasions have already begun to heal over.

“Sir, perhaps you should speak with somebody. This is not going to be easy.” She joins him, leans over, and reaches out to touch Newt’s forehead.

“No,” Theseus says, pushing Ellen away. “Get Tina. He needs Tina.”

“Sir —”

He looks up haggardly; he seems to have aged ten years in the past ten minutes. “Get. Tina. Goldstein.”

“Very well, sir.”

As soon as the door swings shut, he leans forward, palms and forearms pressed against the wall, head between his elbows. “Dear god, Newton, what have you gotten yourself into?” he says, but of course his idiot little brother doesn't answer.

* * *

“Miss Goldstein has been contacted,” the Ellen informs him an hour — _one bloody hour! —_ later. “They've arranged a Portkey, sir.”

“Good,” he says wearily. “Thank you.”

“Sir, you do know there is a chance he —”

“I am well aware,” he says through clenched teeth.

“I won't mince words. It would take something of a miracle now to bring him out of this.”

“You haven't met Tina,” Theseus says, and turns his back on Ellen.

* * *

A few minutes later, Ellen comes into his room looking shaken. “I'm afraid they're giving Miss Goldstein a spot of trouble down at reception,” she tells him anxiously. “And I'm afraid she's giving it back.”

“Good girl,” Theseus mutters, unfolding himself from the chair with a groan.

Ellen trots along behind him, wide-eyed, as he strides down the hall, and takes several sharp turns before approaching Reception. The Scamander boys have spent a fair amount of time here over the years; the Chapel was built centuries ago specifically for residents of Scamander Island. As a result, Theseus knows his way around the small infirmary, arguably better than the staff.

“Is that Tina?” he asks, tilting his head as they near the front and hears some choice words being shouted.

Ellen graimces. “Yes sir.”

“Wonderful,” Theseus says breezily, and pushes open the double doors. Everyone freezes. He gets some sort of satisfaction out of being the largest and most intimidating presence in the room of women.

“Mr. Scamander —” Ellen starts.

“Tina, if you please.” He gestures to her.

The supervisor, Coralina Fischer, steps forward. “Mr. Scamander, Miss Goldstein is not an approved visitor. Now, we know your family wields a great deal of influence over our business, and we are very grateful for your contributions. But this is protocol, sir.”

“Merlin’s knickers,” Theseus says, rubbing a hand over his face. He looks at Tina disbelievingly and throws his hands in the air. “And how might this young lady get such clearance?”

Coralina shifts uncomfortably. “Well, sir…”

“By my unconscious, dying brother waking up and signing a bloody sheet of paper saying that she can be in the same room as him when he's on his deathbed?” Theseus shouts.

“Mr. Scamander, I'm —”

“Do you, _any_ of you, even know who this is?” he says incredulously. “This woman is one of the most accomplished Aurors of MACUSA! She's risked her life to save others, she’s been cursed and held hostage and almost killed in the line of duty, she's been instrumental in ongoing investigations, she’s saved my — our friend from a _murder_ attempt, she’s _trying_ to save the bloody _world,_ and she's the love of my brother’s life, which incidentally is hanging by a thread as we speak!”

“I understand, and it's wonderful to —”

Theseus throws an arm around Tina, who looks peaked, exhausted, still angry, and terrified. “This young woman is the only one my brother has truly loved, you know that?” he says, his voice trembling. “And she's sure as hell the only one who's loved him.” He looks at the Healers, tears pricking his eyes. “He jumped in front of a bloody _Killing_ Curse to save her. The first time I saw him laugh, really laugh, since we were _boys,_ was when I met Tina for the first time.

“She’s _made_ him the person we always knew he could be, and it is my understanding that he did the same for her. She’s made him stronger, she’s shown him love, she’s given him something to work and _fight_ for. He _needs_ her. If anyone is going to heal him now, it isn't any of you and your fancy wandwork.” He presses his lips together as his voice cracks. “No. It's Tina. _His_ Tina. So if you don't mind, we have somewhere to be. Come along, Tina.”

Ellen moves towards them, but her supervisor stops her. “Let them go,” she says quietly.

“A good choice, Mrs. Fischer,” Theseus calls, and slams the door.

* * *

Once they're safely out of everyone's earshot, he stops and turns to Tina, gripping her by the shoulders. “Are you alright?”

She looks at him bleakly. “What do you think?”

“Me neither,” he says gruffly, pulling her to his chest briefly. “Come on.”

“Is it bad?”

He closes his eyes, steels himself. “Yes. It isn’t just his body. Those who are close to him will be able to feel it. You’ll see.”

They stop outside the door, both hesitating before facing the nightmare contained within. Then again, who are they kidding? The nightmare is everywhere.

“You've saved him before,” he says hoarsely to Tina. “Now just save him one more time. Please.”

“I'll try,” she whispers.

“That's my girl.” He pushes the door open. “In you go.”

* * *

She enters slowly, carefully. Her _stupid,_ reckless, beautiful, eccentric magizoologist is lying, unconscious, on the cot in front of her. As she nears him, her breath catches in her throat. He's pale, so pale that his freckles burn like spots of fire on his skin. One eye is still badly bruised. His lips are chapped and crusted slightly with dried blood, and his hand where it lies next to her elbow is all bone.

“What have they done to him?” she breathes in horror.

“They didn't want to touch him too much,” Theseus says wearily from the chair.

“Does that mean not feeding or cleaning him?” Tina asks tightly. “Here, get me a wet cloth, please.”

He goes to the bathroom and runs a towel under the water, wrings it out, and brings it over to her. “They have had him barely six hours, if that. He’s… fading. It's not just his body.”

Tina doesn't know how she's not crying, except perhaps the shock of it all and the knowledge that if she can't be brave and hold it together, nothing will be fixed. Taking the cloth from Theseus, she dabs at Newt’s mouth gently, washing off the blood and dirt. She places it to the side, then leans down and kisses him tenderly. Theseus was right: she can tell exactly how bad it is. It’s difficult to even _describe,_ but it feels as though part of her own heart has stopped beating.

“And the bruising?” she asks.

“They have done what they can,” Theseus replies hopelessly. “The bruising will heal. His bones have grown back already. It's just his mind. His soul.” He falters. “They have never treated a lethifold attack. Until now, it is my understanding that they were known to be carnivorous. But it would seem” — he gestures to his brother — “that they share more in common with dementors than we would like to think.”

“Oh, Newt,” Tina whispers, running a finger over his black eye. “You idiot.”

Theseus somehow scoffs through the tears. “That is precisely what I told him.”

Tina sits back on her heels, one hand still resting on Newt’s chest. “He never does listen, does he.”

“Never did, never will,” says Theseus wryly.

“How did you know to get me?” She pauses. “Why?” _I'm just the girlfriend._

He gives her a funny look. “You are his next of kin,” he states as though it’s blatantly obvious. The statement sounds vaguely familiar, as though she heard it once in a dream. “At least in our minds.”

“Oh,” she says, frowning.

Theseus runs a hand agitatedly through his hair and shakes his head. “They took their sweet time contacting me after they found him. Patched him up on site, then transported him here for further treatment, closer to home than St. Mungo’s. But Curare does not deal with specialized injuries. The last time they treated him, I am fairly certain it was for a shattered femur after he ‘miscalculated’ a jump.

“If he does not come to by tomorrow, I am putting my foot down and getting him moved.” He wets his lips, looking exhausted. “As soon as I arrived, I told them that he needs you.” He gazes bleakly at his brother and admits, “I am well accustomed to Newton being injured and ill and unconscious, but I have never seen him this bad before. It is a big brother’s worst nightmare.”

“And a girlfriend’s,” Tina murmurs.

Theseus starts to say something, then stops, then starts again. “This is terrible timing, but you two are essentially married, you know that?”

“He doesn't want to get married.” She says it like a fact.

Theseus looks at her in horror. “Are you _mad?”_

“What?”

“Newton has wanted to marry you practically since his first day back in New York,” he says as though he's trying to explain to her that the sun rises every morning.

“I don't think he thinks I would be… appropriate, or something,” Tina admits, running her fingers through Newt’s unruly bangs. That's another thing: nobody’s brushed his hair in days. “Is there a comb somewhere?”

Theseus reaches into the bedside table drawer and hands it to her wordlessly. She starts passing it through Newt’s curls, bit by bit. “You are _more_ than appropriate,” Theseus states firmly. “He fears that he is not. That he cannot be what you need.”

The comb stops. “What?”

“That's what he thinks.”

Tina shakes her head. “That doesn't make sense.”

“Newton has never been known for making much sense when it comes to matters of the heart.”

Tina doesn't know what to say.

“Don't worry about it,” Theseus says finally, and pats her on the back. “We can talk about that later, once he is back.”

“What if I can't wake him?” Ah, _there_ are the tears.

“You will.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

Theseus leans back in the chair and closes his eyes. “Just wait.”

* * *

It's dark when she wakes up, having not even realized she was asleep. Rubbing her eyes, she registers a tray of food left on the bedside table, with a little note. Theseus is snoring away in the chair beside her. Straightening up and wincing at the pain of doing so, she grabs the note.

> Dear Miss Goldstein,
> 
> It seems we owe you an apology. Please enjoy the complimentary food.
> 
> Best regards,
> 
> The Curare Chapel Healing Staff

Newt is still breathing steadily next to her; after a moment of internal conflict, she sits at the head of his bed, and resolves to completely deal with his hair while he's still unable to do anything about it. The thought makes her smile.

“Did they apologize?” Theseus asks when he wakes up a few minutes later, jerking his head at the food tray.

“Oh. Yes,” Tina replies. “I don't care.”

He snatches the note from her, skims it, and crumples it up. “Good. Me neither.” Then he gestures to his brother somberly. “Any luck?”

She sighs. “Nothing yet. If only I could get him to open his eyes…”

“It's alright,” Theseus yawns, getting to his feet. “I had better get some proper rest.” He nods at the spare cot. “You can kip there.”

“Oh, you can't leave him,” Tina says in dismay. “You're his brother.”

“That very well may be, but I daresay you are more important than me at this point.”

“No!” Tina bites her lip. “Please… I don't want you to go.”

Theseus’s gaze softens. “Very well. We will have to take turns on the one bed, then.”

Tina thinks for a moment as an idea occurs to her. It's rather scandalous, of course, but it's only Theseus, who’d just claimed that she and Newt are practically married, and at this point all bets seem to be off. “I'll stay with Newt,” she says. “There's plenty of room.” He's so thin now, anyways. It’s as though the poison, or whatever even _happened,_ is eating at his body as much as his soul. “I mean… if you don't mind.”

“Not in the slightest.”

Tina pauses, then takes her shoes off. Trying not to be too self conscious with his older brother in the room, she gently nudges Newt over until there's enough space for her to lie down next to him. She does, and then adjusts his body so his ear is resting on her heart, her arm is clutching bony shoulders, and she’s holding as much of him as she possibly can. Reaching down, she interlaces their fingers, despite his being boneless and distressingly unresponsive, and breathes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we have a couple chapters of Newt recuperating and some *squeal* Sopheus shenanigans (honestly, putting the quintet of Newt, Tina, Elsie, Sophia, and Theseus together on a hospital ward... what do you expect?), some Newtina hospital bed cuddles, and then back to the island. Then action will pick up PDQ and basically not stop until the end.
> 
> We're at week 8 and the fic is set to end week 11 so we only have 3 more weeks of events!
> 
> However, I'm planning a sequel already (I'm so overambitious I know). Of sorts. It probably won't be fully fleshed out (hahahahaha yeah right like I could do a not-fully fleshed out sequel) but I have a timeline of their lives that extends until 1943. So let me know if you'd be into a sequel or some sort of "epilogue" piece. I still have other fics in this series to finish and post too.
> 
> P.S. I really wanna know what Theseus was gonna call Sophia when he was like "Tina saved my — our friend" ;)


	75. I'm stealin' back to my same old used to be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Newt comes to and it's very emotional, and Sophia and Theseus reunite!
> 
> He stares at her, and she feels his hands grip hers so tightly it hurts. “Scared,” he croaks.
> 
> “No, no,” she says, blinking back tears and stroking his forehead. “Brave.”
> 
> Chapter title from “Stealin’ Stealin’” by Memphis Jug Band (1928)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm doing an Instagram live video all day @edyebenedict and I'm honestly way too lazy to edit this right now.
> 
> Long writing reflection in the end notes.

_ Week 8, Wednesday _

It happens gradually. At the crack of dawn, Tina is woken by the lightest sensation. Looking down, she sees Newt's eyelids flutter slightly against her chest. “Theseus,” she hisses. He jolts awake. “Come on, darling,” she begs Newt, cupping his chin in her hands. It's as though he's battling some invisible force, but impossibly slowly, his eyes open. “Get a Healer,” she tells Theseus urgently. He jumps out of bed, grabbing his dressing gown and then racing out of the room. “Newt,” she says, gazing down at him. “Can you hear me?”

He stares at her, and she feels his hands grip hers so tightly it hurts. “Scared,” he croaks.

“No, no,” she says, blinking back tears and stroking his forehead. “Brave.” Theseus comes hurrying down the hall then, followed by two Healers, who stop short at the sight of Tina talking to a definitely awake, if dazed, Newt. “Merlin’s beard,” one of them breathes as he walks over.

Theseus smirks. “Told you.”

“Mr. Scamander,” the Healer says, approaching the bed, but he gets a bit too close and his voice is a bit too loud and, blinking furiously before shutting his eyes, Newt fades out again.

“Job well done,” Theseus starts to snarl, but Tina stops him.

“It's fine. He’ll wake up again.”

The two Healers look at Theseus. “Very well, but today he goes to St. Mungo’s. We can use my gold and make them build another bloody wing, but I won't have him here any longer.”

“We can see…” one Healer says uncertainly.

“No, you  _ will _ see,” Theseus replies. “Newt is going to St. Mungo’s if I have to take him on the back of a hippogriff.”

“I'm sure he would love that, sir,” one of them says drily. “We will contact them as soon as we can.”

“Now.”

“Sir…”

He glares at them impatiently and waves a broad hand. “Now.”

They scamper, and Tina is left thinking how very glad she is not to be in their shoes. Theseus Scamander is every inch the war hero: exactly the kind of person you're lucky to have on your side. “Thank you,” she whispers, hugging Newt to her chest.

Theseus looks a hundred years old as he sighs and rubs his eyes. “No, thank  _ you _ .”

* * *

Newt wakes up, feeling incredibly sore and exhausted and, if possible, slightly worse than after the hippogriff attack. He moves a little. No, make that  _ considerably _ worse.

_ Tina.  _ She was there. The last time he woke up — bloody hell, how long ago was that?  _ Brave, _ she’d said. She called him “darling.” Where  _ is _ she? He can’t move, he can’t —

He coughs involuntarily, his lungs feeling very dry and crackly, and Tina comes into his field of vision so quickly she’s a blur. “You’re not going to scream at me, are you?” he asks weakly, and she flings her arms around him.

“Oh, god,” she sobs against his neck, then pulls away, clutching at him. She runs her thumb along his lower lip, so tenderly, it’s her signature move, isn’t it, and dips her head down and he _remembers_ now why he held on so fiercely, he remembers why he’s been strong — for _this,_ because this is what he lives for, this is what life is and love and… he still can’t say the words, neither of them can, but he would be _lost_ without this woman. She breaks the kiss — he tries to follow her anyway, because why would she do _that? —_ apparently remembering Theseus. Newt almost laughs, because is this not exactly what happened over a month ago, except the other way round?

“Newton,” Theseus says, eyes sparkling with tears, “you are a complete and total  _ moron.” _

“I do try to be,” Newt responds, mustering a smile. “It's one of my talents, see. Annoying people. Being a moron.”

“Come here, you twat,” and Theseus grabs him in a tight hug, squeezing until Newt’s lungs begin to protest and he has to shove his brother away.

“Oh, I should get Mo — Elsie,” Tina says from near the door. Newt’s eyes fly open: had she just been about to say  _ Mom?  _ He’s delirious, probably. “I’ll send her an owl —”

“No,” Newt says, beginning to panic slightly at the thought of her walking out of the room. “Stay. Theseus can.”

She looks at the brothers dubiously. “Are you sure? Because he’s your brother…”

Theseus gets to his feet with a grunt. “Yes, but you’re his Tina,” he says, smirking, before clapping her on the back (hard enough that she stumbles a little) and sweeping out of the room.

For what seems like the hundredth time, Newt thinks about the ring in his money pouch. Too soon…

Tina comes and sits next to him. He looks at her dolefully. Understanding, she glances around the room. “In  _ here?”  _ she whispers.

“I’m very ill,” he reminds her.

“You  _ boob,”  _ she tells him, but then, “fine, move over.”

He does so happily, and after taking her shoes off she slides into the bed next to him, and oh how he missed her. She lies down gingerly, clearly mindful of his injuries, but he boldly drags her over so she’s lying half on top of him, head nestled near the junction of his shoulder and neck, and he can wrap his arms around her completely, one hand cradling the back of her hair carefully. She relaxes, clinging to his warmth, and her eyelids flutter shut. He thinks she’s asleep, but then again she  _ is _ an Auror, and Aurors seem to be able to function on little to no sleep in desperate times such as these.

“Maybe I should go check on Theseus,” she says, surprising him.

“If you do, I will most likely die,” he informs her.

“Newt!”

“I’m  _ very _ ill.” He coughs, ever so convincingly.

“I don’t want people to talk…”

He waves a hand dismissively. “Let them talk.”

“Fine,” she sighs, resting her head on his chest again.

“How long have you been awake?” he asks after a minute of this… cuddling. Who would have thought Newt Scamander would be  _ cuddling _ with someone? Then again, who would have thought Newt Scamander would ever meet and fall in love with a woman as fascinating and beautiful as Tina Goldstein?

“Mm,” is her response, which he translates to “a very long time, such that I am unwilling to tell you because I know you will give me grief for it.”

_ “Tina,” _ he says disapprovingly.

“No, no, ‘sfine,” she mumbles. “Took a nap.”

He just holds her, then, pressing kisses to her forehead every so often, and sure enough she dozes off. Theseus returns shortly thereafter, followed by Elsie, who throws out her arms, ready to embrace him, before seeing Tina.

“Oh, dear,” she says, her voice full of fondness.

“She fell asleep,” Newt says, feeling rather tired himself.

“Yes, I can see that,” she says in amusement, then tells him reluctantly, “We’ll need to have the Healers come have a look at you.”

“I am fine,” he says, and gently pushes Tina’s hair out of her face, then gestures to her. “Can’t they see I’m fine?”  _ All is well in the world. _

“Sorry, brother,” Theseus apologizes sheepishly, as three seconds later two Healers enter. One of them gapes when they see Newt with a  _ woman _ in his bed, then averts her eyes as though it’s a sin on par with nudity. The other visibly suppresses a smile.

“Can we move her?” the nicer Healer (Healer 2) asks apologetically.

He’s incredibly,  _ incredibly _ averse to such a proposal. “Must you?”

Healer 1 makes a noise of indignation from the corner.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Healer 2 says, busying herself. Newt ends up having to peel Tina off of him (much to his chagrin), but she’s so exhausted she merely flops to the side of the bed, which luckily is against a wall.

“You’ll need some more draughts,” Healer 1 says, still aghast at his show of inappropriate physical affection, “and we’ll keep you another night for supervision.” She hesitates. “Mr. Scamander… the Ministry of Magic would very much appreciate it if you would set up a time to discuss the events with them.”

He’s busy trying to drag Tina back towards him, but she’s now gone rag doll and is impossibly uncooperative. “See what you’ve done,” he says plaintively; Healer 2 looks highly entertained. She pats him on the arm and tells him to feel better. Theseus ends up answering for his brother, informing Healer 1 that he and Elsie will certainly make such arrangements.

Newt has given up on his efforts with Tina and, slightly pouty, he struggles to sit up to give his mum a proper hug. “Oh, my darling boy,” Elsie says, squeezing him tight and rocking back and forth. “I knew you would find danger soon enough.” She pauses. “I do hope you’ll be cooperative with the Ministry, won’t you?”

He remembers his last, disastrous conversation at the Ministry of Magic then, and expresses his immense displeasure at the proposal. “They will probably eradicate the entire non-human population of the continent if I discuss the lethifold attack with them,” he says stoutly.

“Lethifolds aren’t exactly the kind of beasts we want to be protecting, are they?” Elsie points out.

Newt is aghast. “Not the kind of beasts we want to be protecting? Mother, every single  _ species _ on  _ earth  _ is worth protecting.”

“Calm down,” Theseus says placidly, patting Newt on the head before he can go apoplectic. “We all want what is best for this world.”

“Not  _ all _ of you,” Newt mutters, several names coming to mind. Tina stirs beside him and looks up, groggy. She sighs, nestles her head under Newt’s chin, and closes her eyes again. Newt doesn’t actually recall  _ specifically _ casting the patronus, but he wonders which happy memory he’d chosen. The last time he needed one was long before Tina; he sometimes thinks he literally did not understand happiness until they... “fell in love” is an unfair assumption. Until  _ he _ fell in love with  _ her,  _ then.

“I’ll leave you two to it,” Elsie says warmly, and comes over to briefly peck Tina on the cheek. “Come along, Theseus.”

He obliges, casting one last slightly  _ amused _ look their way.

* * *

Newt wakes up several hours later and panics when he realizes that Tina has abandoned him. He’s about to get out of bed himself when his mum and Theseus enter.

“Are you feeling better, darling?” Elsie asks.

“Where’s Tina?” he responds.

“She’s just getting a bite to eat, poor girl,” Elsie says soothingly. “She must be exhausted.”

Newt slumps back against the pillows. 

“Oh!” Elsie exclaims suddenly, and looks tremendously guilty and then distressed. “I still haven’t contacted Sophia, she’ll be worried sick —”

“I can get her, Mum,” Theseus says quickly.

“No, no, dear, you stay with your brother,” she says offhandedly, already getting ready to leave. “I’ll pop back once I’ve gotten Sophia back here safe and sound.”

“You left her in New Guinea  _ alone?!”  _ Theseus yells at Newt the second the door closes.

“I was half-dead!” Newt protests. “You were the one who told them to fetch  _ Tina.”  _

“That is... that is fair,” Theseus admits, storm clearing from his face. “Apologies.”

“I do hope she’ll be alright,” Newt adds.

“She will have to be,” his brother replies bracingly.

Newt sighs. He really does miss his... at this point, it’s difficult not to automatically call her his little sister.  _ Damn _ Sophia and her persistence. However, he has some sort of odd faith that just like Tina, if anything truly horrendous happened to her, he would be able to tell, to sense it somehow. Moreover, she has no known enemies — although she is, after all, close to two people who have them. Newt considers mentioning this, but also doesn’t want to get shouted at by a blustering war hero again, so he keeps his mouth shut.

About ten minutes later, after Theseus has gone off to find Tina, Newt hears a familiar voice in the corridor, chattering away with a hospital employee. “He’s so stupid,” she says, coming nearer, “honestly, it’s a good thing we aren’t related by blood or else I’d probably be  _ ten _ times dumber than I am now — I’d still be pretty smart, of course, but still — if only he’d stop getting himself attacked... I got attacked too, did you ever hear about that? Didn’t think so, we were kinda keeping it under wraps, but my point  _ is —” _

The Healer opens the door wide for Sophia, looking incredibly relieved to have reached their destination.

“Soph!” Newt says, sitting up eagerly despite himself. He can’t help the grin that spreads across his face as his obnoxious assistant launches herself across the room to throw her arms around him.

“Are you okay?!” she cries, pulling away to shake him frantically by the shoulders.

“Nearly got digested by a lethifold, but otherwise,” Newt replies as Sophia wraps her arms around his neck again and squeezes tight. “Please do not asphyxiate me,” he then requests politely, prying her off of him. 

Sophia sits back on her heels at the foot of his bed, eyes shining with the same relief and happiness that seems to have chased away the darkness and fugue and fear, offering a no doubt  _ incredibly _ brief respite. “I’m so sorry, if I’d been there —” she attempts.

“You would be locked away until the war ends and banned from coming near me ever again,” Newt points out. “You and Tina —” Galloping gargoyles, he completely forgot to ask. “What happened to Tina?” 

He has limited, unreliable memories of the attack and his recovery up til now, but Theseus had said something about how long it took Curare to take him in. Perhaps Tina forgot about him? He feels a twinge of hurt at the thought that he might go missing for hours and she would only come when called.

“I will HIT you,” Sophia states matter-of-factly, not even bothering to verbally acknowledge his concerns. “She was caught up in the smuggling case — backup  _ did _ come, by the way, and pretty damn quick — and I, um. Fell asleep,” she admits, embarrassed. “My neck is fine,” she adds hastily when Newt looks horrified. “No, I just... I was tired and I’m sorry, I —”

Newt reaches over and ruffles up her hair reassuringly. “You did precisely as I wished. For once.”

She sticks her tongue out at him. “Anyway, it was like, four o’clock by the time Tina woke me up. The smuggling thing was a piece of cake for her, of course,” Sophia thinks to mention. Of course. “Then we started to worry, so we tried getting information from the hotel and then New Guinea’s weird little law enforcement place, but nobody’d heard anything. They sent us to the coast guard but, y’know, it’s a kind of huge island and you coulda been anywhere, especially since there are no maps of where you were. 

“But then an owl came for Tina from Curare Chapel while she was on the brink of a panic attack, so good timing with that,” she adds appreciatively, “and she dropped everything and ran. I got left behind, of  _ course,”  _ she grumbles, “but with Tina and Theseus I knew you’d be okay. Mom got me a Portkey this morning and here I am! Have you seen Theseus?”

“I believe he is either negotiating with the staff on my behalf — I have apparently inadvertently managed to offend several Healers — or else conspiring with Tina,” Newt replies, yawning and sliding back under the blankets.

“Hey, he’s s’posed to conspire with  _ me!”  _ Sophia protests indignantly. Right on cue, Theseus walks in, whistling, and stops still when he sees her. She waves, beaming, and announces cheerfully, “I’m back!”

“Thank Paracelsus,” Theseus says in immense, palpable relief. Nobody says as much, but it does rather feel like their family has been properly reassembled after a massive upheaval.

Sophia grins and opens her arms for a hug; Theseus comes over, but she’s still kneeling on the bed, making the angle awkward. “Wow,” she snaps sarcastically, “thanks for the warm embrace.”

“It is  _ not _ my fault if you insist on being lazy when you are  _ already  _ exceptionally short — how tall are you again? Four feet?”

“I hate you!” Sophia proclaims, whacking him in the stomach. 

“If you actually stood,” Theseus begins, but Sophia catches him off guard and yanks him down to her level instead. He topples over Newt’s legs, landing half on top of her as she cackles madly. “Why must you —” he says, barely masking his amusement in disapproval and still hovering over her on his elbows.

She reaches up and pokes him on the nose. “Because I’m amazing,” she answers airily, “or didn’t you hear?”

“Ouch,” Newt finally speaks up pointedly. “You do understand that there’s a  _ person _ in the bed the two of you are treating as your personal jungle gym.”

“Sorry bro,” Sophia apologizes good-naturedly, shoving Theseus away.

Theseus looks slightly more abashed about their antics than she as he unfurls himself, straightening up with a grimace. Sophia reaches out her hand expectantly.

“Oho, so _now_ you want my chivalry?” Theseus teases her, but tugs her to her feet anyway. Rather than hopping off the bed, she stands on it _—_ _narrowly_ missing Newt’s ankles — and flings her arms around Theseus’s neck, gracelessly spinning herself around with glee. There’s an awkward moment in which it looks like Theseus is actually holding her, her legs briefly looping around his waist, before she loosens her grip and lands, semi-sprawled on the floor.

“That was a whoopee,” Sophia pronounces, brushing off her perpetually rumpled clothes and looking very satisfied.

“Indeed it was,” Theseus responds. “Welcome back, Sophie.”

“Oh hey, Mom, Tina!” Sophia says then, ignoring Theseus’s welcome. She offers a friendly wave. “How goes it?”

“We were informed that a tussle had ensued,” Elsie says somewhat sternly, though her eyes crinkle as she joins the other two by Newt’s bed. “And that it looked like a little girl —”

“Little girl,” Newt feels compelled to note. Sophia glares at him.

“Nope, just reuniting with my bud,” Sophia says, patting Theseus’s burly forearm. “What do you call him, by the way?” she asks Elsie. “Don’t you have some sort of pet name? He let it slip once and it’s haunted me ever since... is it  _ really _ embarrassing? Like, on a scale of 1 to 10?”

“Oh,” Elsie says, smiling. “You mean —”

“I do believe Newton could use some rest,” Theseus interrupts loudly.

“Theseus and Sophia were considerably ruder to me than was strictly  _ necessary,”  _ Newt informs his mum, sounding like a disgruntled brother tattling on his siblings. “‘Tussle’ is putting it lightly.”

“Shut up, puppy dog!” Sophia sings gaily. She kisses Newt on the cheek, then skips towards the door. “You think they have coffee here?”

“No,” all occupants of the room say immediately, including Tina, who is holding a cup of coffee as they speak.

“Swell,” Sophia says, winking, and leaves. Everyone looks to Theseus, who indeed wordlessly volunteers for Keeping Sophia in Check duty and follows her.

“Wow,” Tina remarks, ostensibly in reference to the whirlwind that is Sophia and Theseus in rare form. Sophia is the primary creator of said whirlwind, but Theseus more than endorses it. She comes over to Newt, who reaches for her hand and interlaces their fingers, then pulls her down so he can kiss her.

In front of his mum, who is frankly completely unfazed. For some irrational reason, however, Tina still nurses a peculiar authority-figure level anxiety around and consideration for Elsie’s opinion. Does she not realize that she’s practically part of the family?  _ Haha,  _ a voice that sounds suspiciously like Sophia mocks,  _ you said it, not me.  _ (He’s fairly certain that at this point both he and Tina possess internal Sophia’s.) 

When Newt had first come to and discovered that the hospital staff had redressed him in a robe, he panicked and demanded to know the whereabouts of his money pouch. Luckily, they retrieved it for him — he cringes now, realizing exactly how pretentious and demanding he must have sounded — and a frantic check verified that the ring is still there.

He and Tina have yet to say “I love you,” though, and it’s only been two months. So really, it’s far too soon to bring any of that up.

“Newt,” Tina hisses presently, looking pointedly at Elsie.

“What?” he asks innocently. Kissing Tina is  _ always _ fascinating and highly enjoyable, but something about the hospital room makes it particularly so. He’s always been stunned — perplexed and disconcerted, even — at the way she treats him with such care, as though he’s something precious, and he finds a bone-deep comfort (love?) in reminders of the small ways she’s taken care of him thus far. He never exactly expected someone other than his mum to want to change his dressing and wash his face even when he’s unconscious and hold his hand when he’s on his near-deathbed. But Tina seems to relentlessly challenge his expectations.

“I’ll be back later, dears,” Elsie says, mouth quirked in fond amusement.

“Yes, Mum,” Newt responds agreeably.

“Thank you,” Tina adds.

Newt wastes no time in moving over enough for his girlfriend to kick her shoes off and slip right into his arms as though made by design.

“You tired?” she asks after a few minutes of quiet cuddling and casual, intermittent but tender kisses.

“Not especially,” he replies.

“Oh.”

“Why, did you have something in mind?” Because Newt is certainly not averse to probably anything she might suggest.

“No,” Tina answers almost defensively. She stifles a yawn herself, though.

Newt  _ isn’t _ tired, but he has no problem with Tina’s tiredness and presses his lips to her forehead before resting a hand comfortably on her hair, twining a few strands between his fingers. She snuggles closer at the contact, rests her ear over his head, places her hand on his abdomen (he rather suspects this particular habit was borne at least partly of his now multiple near death experiences and a resultant need to feel him breathing), and falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the frankly self-indulgent Sopheus reunion. Also, the first Muggle jungle gym was patented in 1920, so I can safely use the term as most inventions came to the wizarding world when or before the Muggle counterpart did.
> 
> Newt twining a few strains of Tina’s hair between his fingers was inspired by the scene in Love Actually where Sarah and Karl slow dance:
> 
>  
> 
> SORRY IT'S SO BIG 
> 
> I was talking to my dad last night about fanfic (a frequent topic of conversation) and I was saying how one of the things I’ve grown to somewhat dislike about it is that it can be confining after a point. Like, for me, I’ve fallen in love with telling this story, and obviously it’s much more than Newtina in their general usual setting; I’ve opted (because I’m insane) to create this entire universe and villain and OCs, etc.
> 
> The problem is, Newt and Tina are still canon characters, despite the fact that I’ve expanded a lot from the canon universe. Which means I constantly feel like I need to keep them exactly in character, despite the fact that at this point I’d like them to be more OCs, so I can work on their own character development and not be accused of writing them OOC. My versions of them have evolved a lot and taken on lives of their own. So it’s a bit distressing to me, when I’m writing, to feel like I’m going to be ostracized for “””wrong””” characterization, which would not be the case if this wasn’t fanfiction and they weren’t canon characters.
> 
> It really doesn’t matter though. My goal is to write a good, engaging, enjoyable story, and if people dislike my writing or fic because I’ve gone in this bizarre overambitious direction, so be it.
> 
> So tomorrow Newt's back to Scamander Island and then a bunch of things happen very quickly... so like brace yourself.


	76. Love is prompting the play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sopheus conspire, Newtina eat chocolate, and our favorite quintet have a home-cooked dinner at the guest house.
> 
> Suddenly, Sophia says, “You think it’ll ever be like this again? The four of us. Relaxed.”
> 
> “I don’t know,” Tina answers quietly.
> 
> “Me neither,” Sophia replies ruefully. “I have a bad feeling that things are gonna change.”
> 
> “Perhaps,” Theseus says evenly. “But our ties are not so easily severed.”
> 
> Chapter title from “Honey” by Rudy Vallee (1929)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I'm so glad to have such good feedback (I just took a peek at some comments). I’ll take a break after TWMLLO just to finish up the other fics in the series and get caught up before planning the sequel, though.
> 
> This chapter turned into pure, unabashed fluff. Like actually. But we all love fluff and comedy and feelings. Next chapter Lucille’s going to pay a visit and after that a lot of things are going to happen, so enjoy this while you can *evil laughter*
> 
> One of the longest end notes in the history of TWMLLO.
> 
> Let's acknowledge this as another one of my favorite chapters to write. I'm not sure why but I just really enjoyed it <3

_ Week 8, Thursday _

It’s literally been less than two weeks since Theseus last saw Sophia, but the relief he feels would make it seem as though it’s been months. Funny, when you spend that much time with a person, how lonely it becomes when they leave.

However, they have work to do, and as usual waste no time (or very little; Wednesday night was spent running amok until the floor supervisor had to sit them down and have a stern talk, giving Theseus a frighteningly accurate rendition of Elsie’s most maternal glare of disapproval) in doing it.

“There has been a suspicious shortage of attacks,” Theseus informs Sophia Thursday afternoon. They’ve found a weeping willow in one of the lesser known rooftop courtyards, which offers a lovely view of rolling green hills and an azure sky dotted with perfect cotton ball clouds. Sophia remarks that if they had one of these “at home,” she would  _ “so  _ make a treehouse” or at least get Theseus to build one for her. Truth be told, Theseus is more touched by the fact that she’d just called Scamander Island her home.

For now, they’ve brought a picnic lunch to enjoy beneath the tree’s draped branches. Spots of sunlight stream through elongated viridescent leaves and dance across their faces. It’s May now — and it was only the first half of March when this entire adventure started — which brings with it a welcome warmth. Theseus gets the sense that they need all the warmth they can get, literally and figuratively.

He continues, “It has given the governments some time to recover and get everything back in order, such as identifying all the bodies and establishing better safety procedures, but we all fear Grindelwald has something much bigger planned.”

“You don’t think the lethifold has to do with him or Lucille, do you?” Sophia asks anxiously.

Theseus hesitates. “I have no idea,” he admits. “With no witnesses... it is lucky, even miraculous, that Newt had the presence of mind to produce a patronus even as he was being attacked. By that point, most victims would have been dead. I do wonder why it took so long to cast the charm in the first place... but never mind that now.”

“I kinda feel like people are disregarding Lucille when they shouldn’t be,” Sophia says ruefully. “I mean, I know they have a lot going on, but like... everyone seems to have forgotten Graham’s death — which was weird, because it was an individual murder and not mass slaughter — and something about her agenda seems really fishy to me.”

“In the government’s defense, it does make sense to prioritize Grindelwald, as he is known to be behind the larger scale attacks,” Theseus feels obligated to point out. “However, your point is entirely fair. Particularly since she is targeting individuals — Tina and potentially Newt.”

“Yeah.” Sophia sighs and leans back against the tree trunk, resting her feet on Theseus’s lap. She’s idly braiding long blades of grass together into a chain, which she finishes after a few minutes of companionable silence. “C’mere,” she says, reaching for Theseus’s wrist.

He watches as she nimbly ties the ends of the braid together, transforming it into a modest, endearingly haphazard bracelet. “Thank you,” he says when she finishes and sits back. “I will cherish it.” It’s intended sarcastically, but the quizzical look on her face indicates that it may not have come off as such.

Luckily, she blows it off — he’s discovered that Sophia deals with uncomfortable situations either by emphasizing it (usually in the case of Newt committing a faux pas or people mistaking him and Tina as a married couple) or pretending it never happened — and starts relating less depressing stories of the brief trip to him.

Two hours fly by until Sophia realizes that they should probably return to the hospital ward in the event that people (especially Newt) start a search party. “Come on,” she says insistently, tossing the blanket at Theseus to fold and hurrying towards the exit.

“Slow down,” he complains. Before he follows her back to reality, Theseus taps the grass bracelet with his wand, casting a small preservation charm so that it doesn’t fade or tear, but stays there forever.

* * *

Newt and Tina hurriedly jump apart that afternoon — most of the Healers have been understanding, but they've grown to fear the infamous Healer 1, who looks as though she might have a conniption every time she sees them in bed together — when a cart is suddenly wheeled into the room, filled to bursting with flowers, teddy bears, sweets, and cards. Newt gets a strong whiff of perfume and coughs.

“From your admirers,” the woman says in disgruntlement. “It clogged up the mail room.”

“Well that isn’t  _ his  _ fault,” Tina snaps defensively. The Healer sniffs and stalks off. 

Newt can’t help but appreciate his girlfriend’s so-called prickliness (and his girlfriend in general). What he feels like some people forget is the fact that she battled  _ Grindelwald,  _ one of the most dangerous Dark wizards of all time, and she lost her job protecting an abused child. She’s tough and a brilliant Auror; Newt thinks it a damn shame when people seem to forget the breadth of her participation in last year’s events, and discount exactly how strong and courageous she's had to be. 

Newt groans when Tina Summons the cart over to the bed and begins opening letters.

“Your fan club certainly hasn’t eased off,” she observes in amusement. “Oh, goodness.” She holds up a particularly garish pink doily, which is signed with a lipstick print. “‘Love and kisses, Amber,’” she reads. “Here’s an address in case you want to go on a date with her. She’s... 15.” Tina looks on fondly as Newt flops hopelessly back against the pillows. “I’d say she’s a little young for you.”

“I must say, yours are the only ‘love and kisses’ I need,” he says faintly.  _ Love. _

“Aw,” Tina comments mildly. Is her lack of reaction some sort of confirmation? But no, if it was, she would’ve given some indication that she picked up on the unintentional implication. Right? 

Newt is ridiculous.

Tina sends the cart flying to the other side of the room and sits back down in Newt’s (their) bed. 

“There  _ are _ chocolates in there,” he feels compelled to mention. “And I’m feeling a bit peckish.”

“‘Peckish,’” Tina repeats, eyes crinkling at his Britishness. She  _ and _ Sophia seem to enjoy teasing him like that, although he doesn’t mind it from his girlfriend, and since he’s still technically on bedrest Sophia isn’t allowed to physically assault him if he hits her. 

_ That _ had been a very entertaining conversation for all to behold: after a stressed Healer told Elsie that a small girl was berating the patient, Elsie had to hurry in and call a truce. Since then, everyone has completely bought into the “little sister” charade, which Sophia has taken great advantage of in order to gain status and get into even more mischief. Poor Elsie told Tina later, wringing her hands, that she never thought motherhood could be this frustrating, and she especially never thought she would be experiencing it in all its glory at the ripe age of 59.

At any rate, after settling down with Newt’s arm snug around her shoulders, Tina points her wand lazily at the cart.  _ “Accio chocolates.”  _

It might’ve behooved her to have been a bit more specific, because dozens of individually wrapped candies as well as large packages end up hurtling through the air like confectionary missiles, assaulting the couple and scattering all over the sheets. 

“Sorry,” she apologizes, grimacing.

“It’s quite alright,” Newt replies, prying an obscenely oversized box of chocolates off his face and checking to make sure his nose isn’t broken. It isn’t, so they spend the rest of the day getting sick on sweets and napping.

It is time most excellently spent.

* * *

_ Week 8, Friday _

Newt finally returns to Scamander Island on Friday evening. Much to his chagrin, Elsie, Sophia, and Tina (the combination of those three women is something like a perfect, impenetrable and unapologetically  _ bossy _ storm) have set up an appointment next week for him to discuss the happenings with Emmeline and Hector (translation: Emmeline, with Hector and his teacup spectating anxiously). 

The guest house has been cleaned and made up very nicely for their return. Apparently, a well-meaning house-elf had gone so far as to leave candles around their room and scatter rose petals on the bed, under the impression that Newt and Tina were coming back from their honeymoon. Elsie reassures the couple that the error was corrected, but that she also promised to call on the house-elf’s flair for romantic interior design should the actual opportunity arise.

Loath as he is to admit it, Newt is rather tuckered out by the time they sign discharge paperwork and he’s been accosted by Newties and gotten punched by Sophia for a disparaging comment. Dinner plans at the manor are cancelled in favor of a home-cooked meal at the guest house.

Tina and Elsie take over kitchen duty while Sophia chooses a book from the bookshelf at random and reads it dramatically to an amused Theseus and disgruntled but couch-bound Newt. It gets a bit chilly as the sun sets, so they light the fireplace and put on some music. After setting a timer for the oven, Tina comes over to the sofa, drying her hands on her apron, and sits down with Newt’s head in her lap.

“Teen, have you seen Newt’s baby pictures?” Sophia asks innocently.

Tina’s face lights up. “No, where?”

“Please don’t,” Newt begs Sophia, but she smirks at him and extracts a thick leather-bound family photo album.

“Uh-uh, don’t move, you’re weak and sickly,” Sophia reminds him airily when he tries to seize it from her. She perches on the arm of the couch and opens the album. “Newt was hideous when he was a kid,” she continues conversationally. It’s somewhat fair: Newt was rather gawky and geeky and very freckly growing up. Still, he glowers at Sophia as she chatters on, “But then again,  _ that _ hasn’t changed. Look, there he is at his second birthday.”

Tina grins. “Er, you’ve got something on your...” She points at toddler Newt, who does indeed have half a chocolate cake smeared across his face. Newt, of course, is the only one who catches the reference, and can’t help but smile, grabbing Tina’s hand and planting a kiss on the palm.

“I guess Newt had something against  _ clothes,”  _ Sophia muses, exposing an expansive photo shoot featuring a diaper-clad Newt tottering around a meadow while five-year-old Theseus grins from the foreground. “I mean, I don't know, maybe he still does.” She winks at Tina, who blushes. 

“I was a baby!” Newt protests.

“Don’t try to defend yourself, dear,” Sophia says condescendingly, and moves the photo album out of his grasp when he tries to snatch it from her. “Don’t be rude,” she chides him, clucking.

“I regret everything,” Newt bemoans.

“I have to say, you didn’t really peak when you were a kid,” Tina tells him dryly.

“Now  _ that  _ is all your fault,” Newt says to a downright gleeful Sophia. “She thought I was quite handsome until —”

“Relax, Newt,” Tina says, running her fingers through his hair and pushing his bangs off of his face. “I still think you’re quite handsome.”

His heart skips a beat. “Really?”

“Mmhm.”

“In that case, I think you —”

“Make it stop,” Sophia groans, slamming the photo album shut and chucking it at Theseus, who jumps. “Oh — sorry, Theseus!”

“It’s fine,” he says, wincing and rubbing the back of his neck, where somehow a page of the photo album gave him a paper cut.

“Better let Tina deal with that, last time I tried I just made it bleed more,” Sophia says. “It was a whole situation... ‘course, Tee was fine, but since then I’ve tried not to do any medical spells.”

“Poor Serenity,” Tina remarks.

“She was fine, she’s always been a good sport,” Sophia says dismissively. She scoots over and inspects the injury. “Nah, you’re good,” she decides, patting Theseus on the head.

“You should be a Healer,” he tells her sardonically. “Your medical skills are stupendous. Dare I ask exactly what your threshold for ‘you’re good’ is?”

“If there’s no bones sticking out and your head’s intact, you’re fine,” Sophia pronounces, partly to annoy everyone.

Tina rolls her eyes, Newt heaves a long-suffering sigh, and Theseus laughs.

“See,  _ he _ thinks I’m funny,” says Sophia defiantly, putting her arm around his neck and accidentally rubbing up against the cut. 

“Really?” he asks, wincing.

“Oops. Sorry,” she apologizes contritely.

A few minutes later, Sophia scampers upstairs to change into a loose nightgown, having spent all day complaining about her trousers being itchy. However, she’s left the rest of her clothes in her room at the manor (Elsie suggests with some exasperation that she simply  _ move _ there), and unconvincingly pretends not to be cold. 

Theseus gallantly lends her his work shirt — he’s wearing a short-sleeved union suit underneath — and Newt laughs hysterically for about ten minutes at the fact that it nearly reaches her ankles. At which point she complains to Elsie, who intervenes with a pained expression to tell Newt that he should not mock his brother’s generosity or sister’s height, over which she has no control.

“Thanks,  _ Mom,”  _ Sophia says stormily.

The timer beeps; Newt grumbles when Tina has to get up and help Elsie put the final touches on dinner.

After the kind of hassle that only this particular group of people (mostly Sophia, who is promptly banned from trying to “help” set the silverware) could create, they all sit down around the table and tuck in. Tina’s cooking is excellent and sends a pang of something akin to homesickness through Newt. It’s odd, because he spent minimal time in New York, but he did feel that Queenie and Jacob were extended family of sorts, and he sincerely appreciates everything that Tina’s sister did for the both of them. 

“You miss her?” Tina asks, watching him gaze wistfully at the strudel on the table.

He nods. “It is strange, isn’t it.”

Tina shakes her head, and there’s a softness in her eyes. “No. Not at all.” Then she leans over briefly and hugs his arm before straightening up and asking Theseus and Sophia what they did all day. Newt falls silent for much of the meal, preferring instead to focus on eating and listening to the conversation. 

After dinner Elsie goes back to the manor, while Tina and Newt curl up on the couch. Sophia hangs upside down next to them, tossing a ball back and forth with Theseus, who’s seated cross-legged near the fire.

“You think it’ll ever be like this again?” Sophia says suddenly.

“What do you mean?” Theseus asks in surprise.

Sophia gestures to the room. “The four of us. Relaxed.”

“I don’t know,” Tina says quietly.

“Me neither,” Sophia replies ruefully. “‘Cause I just... I have a bad feeling that things are gonna change. It’s not like Lucille’s just gonna decide she doesn’t want whatever it is she wants and give up, and it’s not like Grindelwald’s army’s gonna hang around doing nothing.” She pauses, chewing on her lip and still dangling off the edge of the couch cushions. “I dunno, I just think something's gonna happen. Something big.”

“Perhaps,” Theseus says evenly. “However, I doubt very much that it will  _ never _ be like this again. It may take some time. But our ties are not so easily severed.”

Newt feels a lump in his throat, inexplicably touched by his brother’s words. “I agree,” he concurs. Sophia drags herself up and slides onto Newt’s lap.

“You’re welcome,” she says impishly, and because Theseus is absolutely right and their ties will  _ not _ be so easily severed, Newt doesn’t complain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note about the kids part I mentioned: I have a TON written up about their future family too, which I'm excited to share, and maybe share the fates of some of their kids as well, because they all have really distinct personalities.
> 
> Make sure to check out [_All the world is filled with love_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9676955) for some details about their kids!
> 
> Confession: the place where Sopheus has their convo was loosely inspired by the rooftop garden place that Troy in HSM introduces to Gabriella. Also, the bracelet, man... real-life Alec and I actually did that like a looong time ago, you know, before he turned into an asshole (I do still wear the evil eye bracelet he got me, and until he went and got himself a girlfriend he wore mine), and my Sopheus feels just got out of control.
> 
> I had a lot of feelings writing this tbh and I hope you enjoyed the fluffiness. But it’s not just fluff, you know, I mean it’s kinda mushy but like I really do like the relationship the four of them have. It’s really different from the Golden Trio (at least I think and hope so; their age does make a difference but I like to think they're all quite unique characters) and the love and camaraderie are there and genuine.
> 
> I know most fanfiction readers like romance- and ship-based stories, and don’t pay much attention to platonic love or action (which will be hard to not pay attention to in upcoming chapters...) but the evolution of Sophia and Newt’s relationship is something that’s personally important to me. Let’s not forget that she’s a touchstone for him as well as Tina. 
> 
> And Elsie, though she’s not always in the thick of it, is really VITAL and RIDICULOUSLY badass. Hint hint. (I just wrote two scenes where she is the fucking bomb dot com and I'm just bursting at the seams over it. Guys. She is amazing. So is Scamander Island I just *squeals*)
> 
> Also: something very good is going to happen next chapter, which I hope is received well, and which I did only as a favor to all of my faithful readers (because otherwise I’m way too sadistic).


	77. You're gonna be sorry, you'll feel so blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which IT FINALLY HAPPENS, but also Lucille is sketchy and bad things are going to happen.
> 
> “I love you,” Newt says without thinking.
> 
> Tina hums in acknowledgement, takes the quill at her elbow, and scribbles something on the paper.
> 
> Then she freezes.
> 
> “What?”
> 
> Chapter title from “How Long, How Long Blues” by Leroy Carr and Scrapper Blackwell (1928)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I woke up spontaneously at 6:30 am and messaged Fen and then I was like omg I have to post this chapter so here I am half awake posting this chapter
> 
> End notes are about the main event of this chapter because of COURSE your author can't just write something and have everyone take it at face value, I just have to go into behind the scenes and my entire thought process too ;)
> 
> ENJOY! I guess this still counts as a slow burn?

_Week 8, Saturday_

It’s a blessedly lazy Saturday afternoon, one of the peaceful ones that feel like a stolen day out of someone else’s undisturbed life. Newt suspects that it is to be one of the last ones that they will be able to enjoy for awhile: he and Tina have decided to go to London on Monday, which Grindelwald’s army is rumored to target next, and strategize with the Ministry. Tina, for her part, is dying to return to New York — she and Queenie have exchanged letters sporadically; much to everyone's disappointment, traveling to Europe to get married was deemed too risky, particularly for a No-Maj — but there’s no time to waste.

Sophia and Theseus are off hiking around the island; Elsie is at a council meeting; the creatures have been fed; Sophia has officially moved into the manor; and Tina is at the kitchen table, in her house robe, sifting through a stack of briefings and reports that Seraphina sent her last night. As Newt pauses, leaning against the counter, she frowns and turns the page, taking a sip of coffee simultaneously, then scratches her neck and yawns.

“I love you,” he says without thinking.

Tina hums in acknowledgement, takes the quill at her elbow, and scribbles something on the paper.

Then she freezes.

“What?”

He sincerely cannot tell exactly what kind of “what” that is, and finds himself trapped, waiting like a deer in headlights for a more illuminating response. This could be very bad, he realizes all in a rush... oh god, why would he ever — and he’s sworn never to pressure her and this is the _definition_ of putting her in a pressured situation — and it’s only been two months, but so much has happened...

“You mean it?” Tina asks breathlessly. So... not total rejection. He wouldn’t really have said it if he _truly_ thought there was no way she would feel the same.

In a comical and accurate impression of Sophia, Newt quirks the corner of his mouth and replies, “Duh.”

The suddenly fearful look on her face is enough to tell what she’s thinking. Of _course_ that horrible man would still seep into the fissures of their relationship. Sometimes Newt thinks despairingly that that particular ghost from her past will never leave.

He opens his mouth to reassure her when her expression changes, smooths as though she was able to push Alec out of her mind entirely, for the first time ever. Newt swells with pride. Although feelings have never been his forte, and he doesn’t know exactly how to help her, he knows what an accomplishment that is in and of itself. Tina still has demons to face, but one thing is for sure: she will never face them alone again.

Then she beams tearfully and stands up. The table isn’t far from Newt’s spot at the counter and it takes only two steps to reach one another.

“I love you too,” she whispers, and wraps her arms around his neck. Newt soars, his heart thumping wildly but this time in joy — pure bliss, really — as he tugs her closer, notching his chin over her shoulder. Then he pulls back, his hands coming up to cradle her face reverently. He gazes into her beautiful (stunning, gorgeous, mesmerizing) brown eyes and presses their foreheads together.

She runs her thumb along his lower lip, pausing a moment to look at him searchingly. He’s a bit flushed with emotion, and he can only wonder what she sees there — if she will ever really be able to comprehend the depth of what he feels for her.

Finally, after he nudges his nose against hers gently, she cants her head and bridges the gap. It’s with renewed passion that she kisses him now, almost hungrily, her fingers tangling in his hair and his in the folds of her robe, and Newt has to stop himself from taking it too far (such as against any number of available surfaces in the house). He very reluctantly breaks contact first and his heart warms when she seems to chase his lips even as he pulls away to take several calming breaths.

They stand then, eyes glistening and his arms blessedly full of the woman he loves. His brain and mouth struggle to form coherent words: he wants to tell her _everything,_ everything he loves about her and why he will never be able to live without her — this — in his life. He could tell her how she’s changed, humbled, and strengthened him. How she’s his best friend and there is no one he would rather go into battle with (and expects he will, shortly). No one he would rather have on his arm to show off to the world. How she is such an essential part of his _existence,_ and will always be.

Instead he settles on, “I love you,” and he discovers he _quite_ likes the sound of that.

She gives a slightly disbelieving, slightly watery laugh, and kisses him again, achingly gentle and tender but with less of the fire and passion from before (for now). It’s a good thing too, because a moment later there’s a loud knock and Sophia calls, “ARE YOU DECENT?”

The couple subtly straighten clothes and flatten hair. Then Tina opens the door and Sophia struts in, followed by Theseus. She stops still, looking the two up and down appraisingly, then smirks. “Oh my god, you said it.”

How does she _do_ that? “How do you —”

She squeals and yanks them both into a group hug. “You GUYS!!!”

“What?” a befuddled Theseus asks.

“They finally _said_ it! That they love each other!” Sophia cries ecstatically. “Oh, isn’t this the berries —”

“Stop,” Newt says firmly, and pries her off. Then he rests his elbow atop her head. She tries to shove it off, but he holds his own and laughs at her.

“I WILL poke you!” she yells, brandishing her wand for good measure.

“Relax,” he advises, but releases her and slips his arm around Tina (who has rudely taken a few steps away from him) instead.

“I suppose congratulations are in order,” Theseus says, grinning.

“No, honey, not til they get engaged,” Sophia corrects him patronizingly.

Theseus sighs helplessly. “She’s been calling me that ever since she overheard Mum say ‘are these your knickers, honey?’ and I can’t make it stop.”

Sophia snickers. “Shut up, honey.”

“Well,” Theseus says, determinedly ignoring her. “In that case, please allow me to rescind my congratulations.”

“Okay,” Sophia cuts in before Newt or Tina can react. “Theseus and I are going to the beach” — she begins to unbutton her blouse; Newt has a moment of panic before he realizes that she has her (still exceedingly inappropriate) bathing suit underneath — “and you two can have the place to yourselves, since I assume that’s what you both want and are too polite to say.”

“I’m not too polite,” Newt reassures her. He pushes Sophia towards the door. “Please leave.”

Shoving him back, Sophia takes Theseus’s arm and leads him out of the guest house. Before Newt can even turn to Tina, however, Sophia pops up in the kitchen window. “Oh, I forgot to mention, _please_ use some sort of silencing charms if you’re planning to —”

Newt shuts the window in her face.

* * *

“I’m so glad,” Sophia sighs happily, kicking her feet in the water. “Honestly, it’s about time.”

Theseus nods in assent. “I do believe they have loved each other for quite awhile.”

“Yeah, it’s almost enough to restore some of my faith in romance,” Sophia says thoughtfully.

“I didn’t know you lost it,” Theseus responds in amusement.

“I’m not exactly romantic,” she points out. “I’d rather do pretty much anything else than go on a candle-lit dinner date. Newt and Tina are disgusting like that. They look at each other with cartoon hearts in their eyes, it’s ridiculous.” She pauses. “But Nelson seems cool.”

Who? “Nelson?”

She shifts uncomfortably. “He’s, um... this guy that Queenie introduced me to awhile ago. We’ve been writing on and off.”

Theseus really isn’t sure that he wants to be having this conversation. “Oh.”

“I know he likes me,” she admits, “and I don’t mean to lead him on, but I just don’t think I’m... that good. Good enough to be in a relationship with, at least. I’m kind of intense.”

He chuckles. “You don’t say.”

“Would _you_ want to be in a relationship with me?” she asks, looking up at him anxiously.

Well _that’s_ just not fair. “Of course,” he replies, trying to adopt the tone of a very very very platonic brother figure, which is what he’s supposed to be in the first place.

“Eh, you’re biased,” Sophia decides, looking back over the water.

“Just a tad,” he comments.

She looks at him sharply. “What d’you mean by that?”

“What did _you_ mean by that?” he counters defensively.

“I dunno, you’re kinda my best friend, and best friends are s’posed to tell the other friend that of _course_ they’d wanna be in a relationship with them, because they’re _perfect_ and there’s someone else _perfect_ out there who’ll love them and want to be with them despite their flaws and blah blah blah.”

“I was not aware of such duties,” Theseus replies, raising an eyebrow. “Perhaps the perfect person is not ‘out there,’ though.” Oh, no. That’s no good. He should not have said that.

“Hmm?”

“Nothing.” He wraps his arms around his knees, which are tucked up against his chest in a very Newt-ish position, and tries not to panic.

“Where d’you think they are, then?”

 _Right here._ It’s with severe internal pain that he lies, “Maybe... New York?”

“Oh, you mean Nelson?” Her face lights up. “So you really think he’d want to be in a relationship with me?”

“If he has half a brain, then yes.”

Sophia digests this for a minute, looking happy, and that’s really all that matters. “Thanks, honey,” she finally says, getting to her feet. She reaches out her hand to tug him up, but he instinctively yanks her down instead and somehow they end up in a laughing, sandy, wet heap as the ocean kisses the shore and golden sunlight dances to the rhythm of a single shining moment.

* * *

_Week 8, Sunday_

On Sunday morning, Tina hesitantly leaves Newt to his own devices to go have brunch in Berwick-upon-Tweed with Theseus, Sophia, and Elsie (whose feud with Ignotus has thankfully been resolved: they have all agreed that the priority now is to protect the island at any cost, and he has begrudgingly accepted Tina and Newt’s presence). Getting out of the house and enjoying good food is fun, although the excursion mainly consists of Sophia and Theseus cracking inside jokes and abandoning Elsie and Tina soon after eating. (They’re later discovered playing their stupid card game in the middle of the LIBRARY. Sophia’s idea.)

“Those two,” Elsie says exasperatedly, shaking her head. “I do believe she’s changed him as much as you have changed Newt.” Then she gives a mischievous smile. “I hear the two of you finally said those three little words.”

Tina turns pink. “When did Soph tell you?”

“About two seconds after leaving the guest house. She Apparated into the middle of the council meeting to shout it from the rooftops.”

“Well,” Tina says, trying to suppress a smile and failing, “we did.”

“He does love you, you know,” Elsie says quietly after a moment. “In case there was ever any doubt.”

“There still is sometimes,” Tina admits. “But not as much.”

“As I said at the ball, the doubts will always be there to a degree. But the two of you have come a long way; any fool could see that.”

“Thanks, Elsie,” Tina says, feeling a rush of fondness. Newt’s mother really is wonderful, and truth be told she’s played a relatively significant role in their relationship development. From the first time they met and Elsie delivered that astounding pep talk to an insecure Sophia, Tina knew she was onto something, and that if Newt was raised by this woman, well... everything will be just fine.

“Oh please,” Elsie says, reaching over and patting Tina’s hand. “Call me Mom.”

* * *

Newt is somewhat relieved to have a moment to himself. He has, after all, spent most of his life in solitary, and being surrounded by people can get a bit overwhelming. Even with Tina, whom he now openly loves. _That_ brings a smile to his face.

He’s a little surprised when she Apparates unexpectedly into the guest house as he’s making himself a cup of tea. “You’re back early,” Newt comments.

“I missed you,” Tina replies, walking over.

She leans in to kiss him, but the second their lips touch Newt jumps away. “Where’s Tina?” he asks fearfully, grabbing his wand. He knows what kissing Tina is like, and this is  _not_ her.

Tina’s impersonator smirks, withdrawing her own wand and lazily waving it over herself to reveal... he hasn’t seen her before, but he knows who it is before she speaks. “Lucille Wadcock,” she preens. “My, I’m impressed. You really do love her. And _I_ was told that I’m a good kisser... such a letdown.” She punctuates this with a pout.

“Where’s. Tina,” he says through gritted teeth.

“Oh, she’s still in town. I just wanted to have a moment alone with her _handsome_ boyfriend,” Lucille simpers.

“What did you do to her?”

“Goodness, Newt, I just want to have a word,” she says with exaggerated emotion. “What your girlfriend is doing is neither here nor there.”

“It is,” he says angrily. “What have you done with her?”

“I see you’ve recovered,” she remarks glibly, smiling with her mouth but not her eyes.

“That was — was that you?” he splutters.

“The lethifolds? No, no — we can chalk that up to karma. Won’t you have a seat?”

“Karma? For what?”

She sneers. “For what you are about to do.”

“What — what am I going to do?” he asks fearfully.

“I would so hate to spoil the surprise.”

“Then what are _you_ going to do?”

“I might kill you,” she says offhandedly. “Or I might let you off with a warning.” Lucille gestures for him to sit down at the table with her, which he does very warily. “Relax, Newtie. I’m not here to hurt you.”

“You want to kill my girlfriend. I would say that would be a reasonable concern.”

Lucille tsks. “Oh, I do wish we could be _friends.”_

Newt is horrified. “Are you mental?!”

“Yes,” she says calmly, then beams at him with a little squeak. “You know,” she muses, checking the clock, “I should’ve come earlier. They’ll be back any minute now. In that case, I think I’ll skip straight to the warning.”

“What warning?” Newt asks, heart pounding.

She strokes her chin thoughtfully, bright red nails in sharp contrast with her pale complexion. “It’s more of an ultimatum, really.” Then she leans forward, making eye contact that sends shivers down his spine — and not in a good way. “You have a choice.”

Oh no. “Alright...”

“If you save Tina, there will be guaranteed mass slaughter.”

“There already is.”

“Ah, but this will be far more... inventive. Effective, even, if all goes to plan. And it will.”

“What are you saying?”

“Would you rather ensure Tina’s safety than prevent a mass murder that will kill more than mere witches and wizards? Or would you save thousands of humans _and_ nonhumans alike, while leading your girlfriend straight to her death?”

She _is_ good, Newt thinks in dismay. She’s got him firmly between a rock and a hard place. He would like to think that she’s all talk, but he’s fairly certain she’s not — especially if she has an inexplicable ally in Gellert Grindelwald.

Newt has always possessed a strong moral compass, from inherent rage at mistreatment and exploitation, to the innate desire to do the right thing and to protect his loved ones at all costs. Unfortunately, this ultimatum challenges both: he can either prevent said mistreatment and exploitation (mass slaughter), or protect the woman he loves (Tina). It would stand to reason that, as a decent human being, he should choose to save the masses, but he's also _only_ human and cannot physically decide to essentially kill off his own girlfriend.

“I...” he says frantically. “Both.”

Lucille looks at him in mingled pity and disapproval. “Oh, Newt. I’m disappointed in you. Did nobody teach you that when villains offer up an ultimatum, ‘both’ means ‘neither’?”

He has no idea what to do; he is utterly and completely helpless. Hopeless.

“One last thing,” she says, raising her wand. Before he can react, he feels something invisible hit his lips. “Tell anybody about this, and Tina _will_ die." She leers at him. "I like to call it an Unbreakable Vow with a twist.”

There are voices outside as Newt raises his hands to his mouth in horror. They’ve returned.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” are Lucille’s final words to him. With a saccharine smirk and coquettish wave, she Disapparates, leaving him with a million unanswered questions and a sense of oppressive gloom and doom that he knows is not going to lift anytime soon.

* * *

Newt avoids Tina as much as he can once they get back. He mutters something about the creatures and spends a long time in his case, doing nothing but gaze woefully and unseeingly into the distance, until Theseus comes down and joins him.

“Go ahead,” Theseus nudges him.

“I have nothing to say.”

“Why are you avoiding your girlfriend?”

Newt clenches his jaw. “I'm not.”

“Newton,” Theseus sighs, “much as I respect and love you, I must admit I am _considerably_ displeased at your conduct. Frankly, you had better have a very good reason, because this is absolutely unacceptable.”

“I can't tell you,” Newt says desperately. He doesn't even know the extent of the charm, how much he can hint at before triggering the curse.

“You can't or you won't?”

“Neither. Both. I don't know, Theseus,” he begs plaintively.

“Did she do something?”

“Never,” Newt replies instantly, aghast.

“Did you do something?”

“Such as?”

“Your feelings for her are true, yes?”

“More than true,” he answers honestly.

His brother crosses his arms. “Then why the _hell_ are you not acting like it?”

“I cannot say.”

“That is an awful reply,” Theseus says, and there is genuine anger and disappointment in his voice.

“Something bad is going to happen,” is all Newt can muster.

Theseus's eyes are steely. “And you think that this is news?”

Newt shakes his head, fingers trembling as he grips the edge of his work table. “I think I may have made a terrible mistake,” he whispers.

“Oh?" Theseus sighs. "Newton, if life has taught me anything it is that there is nary a mistake so irrevocable that you cannot correct in some manner.”

“I think you might be wrong,” Newt says weakly.

Theseus scrutinizes him. Then, much more softly, “I believe you, brother. But regardless of what you have done, you must make amends with your girlfriend.” He pauses. “I told the whole of Curare Chapel that Tina is the love of your life. Now you damn well start acting like it.” He claps Newt on the back and jerks his head towards the stairs. “Come on.”

Newt trudges along behind his big brother, head bowed and mind racing. No matter what Theseus seems to think, he's fairly certain that this particular mistake, at least, is irrevocable. And he has absolutely no idea what to do about it.

* * *

Newt is walking down the hallway, en route to the kitchen, when he passes Sophia’s room and does a double take. To his immense horror, Sophia is crying quietly in the corner, her back to him. “Sophia?” he asks panickedly.

She turns around and sniffles, plastering an unconvincing smile on her face. “Oh hey, Newt.”

“What happened?” he asks suspiciously.

“Nothing.” She tries to edge by him and make an escape, but no way in hell is he letting _that_ happen.

“What happened?” he repeats, more urgently this time.

“Nothing,” she also repeats.

“Who hurt you?”

“Nobody. Nelson. It's fine.”

Newt grits his teeth. _“What did he do?”_

“Um... got himself a girlfriend. He was really nice about it, he just mentioned it and he didn't even — he didn't acknowledge that he ever liked me, and I thought he did — it's stupid, really, I just... was thinking that maybe after everything was over, that it — it might work out...”

Several options come to Newt’s mind as (possibly irrational, overprotective) anger bubbles up inside of him. However, as he knows is his brotherly duty, he prioritizes quickly and hugs Sophia first. Sometimes, he thinks with a mixture of anguish and affection, she seems so small and vulnerable and he wonders what it would have been like growing up together. How many boys he would have beaten up for her and how many outings they would have ruined with their bickering.

“I'm awful and nobody wants to be with me,” Sophia wails despairingly, voice muffled by his shirt.

He frowns. “Well, that's patently untrue.”

“It's _patently_ true.”

“It isn't. Soph.” He puts his hands on her shoulders and bends his knees to look her in the eye. She doesn't hit him for the patronizing act, which is actually worrisome: she must be _really_ upset. _Not as upset as this Nelson bloke is going to be._ “He is a twat. A horrible, idiotic young man. You are too good for him. In fact, you are too good for most of the men in this world.”

Sophia wipes her nose despondently and heaves a shuddering sigh. “Thanks, big bro.”

“Now,” he says, leaning over and kissing her on the forehead, “I'll be right back.”

“What?” she asks, bewildered as he pulls out his wand.

“I believe it is called a surprise visit,” Newt replies calmly. “There are several new, quite inventive spells Serenity taught me on the boat, which I _was_ reserving for more of a life-or-death situation — but I daresay circumstances warrant a little practice.”

“Wait, Newt, what are you going to do to him?” Sophia asks in alarm. “It's not safe —”

“Back in a jiffy,” he says firmly, and Disapparates.

* * *

Sophia -

What in the world is Newt doing here, and why is Nelson crying?!

-Queenie

* * *

Newt returns an hour later looking quite smug. Sophia shows him Queenie’s letter, raising an eyebrow.

“Never you mind,” he says airily.

“What did you do? Is he okay?”

“Suffice to say he will not be hurting _you_ again.”

“Did you hurt him?!”

“Only a very little bit — quite minor, really,” he answers offhandedly, then looks to his mum, who is eyeing him with extreme suspicion as well. He assumes his most innocent, Eccentric Magizoologist Who Can Do No Wrong expression and puts his hands on his hips. “Dinner?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, you’re welcome. I’d been intending to put it off, but that was before I plotted the end of TWMLLO and realized that they wouldn’t have said it until the sequel or whatever I’ll end up doing, and I wouldn’t do THAT to all of us. 
> 
> I never wanted their first “I love you” to be in an “oh god we are about to possibly die in battle and can’t have regrets” situation (hence why I wouldn't have time to have them say the thing, because this fic ends pretty much right after the action is resolved). I mean, I know a lot of people are into that, so I apologize if that's your head canon, but 1. I DEFY STEREOTYPES (not really, but I aspire to be more than just a typical Newtina relationship-centric fic) and 2. genuine as it may be, that would seem forced (like, you might not have said it otherwise) and cliche to me. So, I had him say it out of the blue.
> 
> Anyone watch The Office (U.S.)? Remember this conversation between Jim and Pam:
> 
> Jim: Right, so, this morning, we are having breakfast together and I just looked up from my cereal and I said, "You know what I want to do today? I want to marry you."
> 
> Pam: I had just woken up. I didn't look cute. That's how I know he meant it.
> 
> ...so that’s the kind of vibe I was going for.
> 
> On a random note, I updated this intermission to explain some of the totally unnecessary research I did on New Guinea (which like isn’t even relevant?) for the fic too.
> 
> After going on a pic spam about protective older brothers I decided to write a little Newt/Sophia scene inspired by this meme:  
>   
> (Thanks Fen for helping me come up with the idea and dying when I sent a preview)
> 
> I'm so cheesy sometimes but like just really emphasizing the calm before the storm okay
> 
> Next chapter is when shit is actually gonna start going down!


	78. I got the world in a jug, the stopper's in my hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Newt is angsty, a vengeful dangerously unstable Lucille is kidnapped, and all hell breaks loose.
> 
> "Newton!” Elsie comes flying into the bedroom, face white as a sheet. Newt and Tina jump to their feet immediately, automatically grabbing their wands. “Newt, something’s happened!”
> 
> “What?”
> 
> “Your creatures escaped,” Elsie says despairingly. She throws a photograph onto the bed for them to behold. Newt’s heart goes cold.
> 
> He recognizes his creatures, big and small, going mad, stampeding, attacking Muggles every which way. A little boy in the corner is getting strangled by an invisible force, his mum screaming and trying to save him. Bodies fall as claws rip and tear and destroy.
> 
> Chapter title from "Downhearted Blues" by Alberta Hunter (1922)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is very heavy. You can skip past Lucille’s inner monologue if you want, but it’s important just to understand where she’s coming from. All villains have motives and hers is basically a desire for revenge that has gotten ten times worse now that she's actually seen Tina, which fueled the fire with some severe resentment and jealousy.
> 
> Between mental health and school, I’m not going to be able to update as frequently. So chapters may be sporadic, but I promise I will not go longer than a few days to a week, if anybody's still reading. We really are in the home stretch now.
> 
> You can follow me @academla on Tumblr to chat about TWMLLO or see studyspo, political, and personal blog posts.

Newt is avoiding eye contact.

This does not escape Tina's notice nor, judging by the considerable awkwardness that descends around the table, anyone else’s. He's also avoiding _physical_ contact; when her arm brushes against his as she reaches for the water pitcher, he visibly starts in his seat — which is hardly the sort of encouraging behavior one might expect from a man who's just told you he loves you.

Sophia and Elsie exchange looks over their goblets. Theseus is glaring disapprovingly at his brother, and Tina stares down at her plate.

“I think I could do with an early night,” Newt announces abruptly to the room at large. He’s barely touched his food.

Before anyone can respond, he walks stiffly upstairs, leaving Tina baffled and understandably hurt. “I should go talk to him,” she says, although truth be told she has a feeling that her presence won't be all too welcome. Especially since this seems to be oddly personal, but it doesn’t _feel_ personal, it just feels... off.

“You’d better stay here, dear,” Elsie says with some trepidation.

Sophia turns to Theseus. “Your turn,” they say simultaneously.

“I spoke with him earlier,” the war hero reasons.

“Fine,” Sophia sighs. She gets out of her chair and tosses her napkin onto the table. “If you'll ex _-cuse_ me, I'll be back in a few seconds to an hour.”

“I am sorry, Tina,” Theseus says, leaning over and putting his hand on hers. “It is not your fault, I am sure of that.”

“Are you? Really?” she asks bleakly, because whichever way you slice it, Newt went from “I love you” to “if you come near my vicinity I will run the opposite direction” in the span of 48 hours. Less than, even.

“There is something he claims he cannot tell us.” Theseus runs a hand through his hair wearily and leans back in his chair.

“He can’t or won’t?” Tina says bitterly.

“Sometimes the two are interchangeable,” Theseus answers ruefully. “And sometimes they are indistinguishable.”

Tina closes her eyes for a moment, the memory of Newt’s “I love you” flashing briefly in her mind. Something is _wrong._ It has to be her, right? Who — what — else could possibly force him into behaving this way?

It doesn’t make sense.

“Do you think he got cold feet?” she asks quietly. _She_ doesn't think so, which is an improvement, but then again perhaps foolish optimism and blind hope is the price she must pay for it.

Elsie cuts in. “Something is wrong,” she says, and there is a grating fear in her voice which visibly disconcerts Theseus and, in turn, frightens Tina. “I know Newton. He is not being over sensitive, no.” She shakes her head vehemently. “He would never have cold feet, dear,” she adds, smiling fondly but very briefly at Tina, “but that is neither here nor there.

“I haven’t a clue why he would abstain from telling us, but I must say, this in and of itself is gravely concerning. With matters this important... he has all four of us, should he wish to confide, but he has not spoken to anyone.”

“Maybe Soph can get it out of him,” Tina suggests.

“If anybody is going to, it is Sophie,” Theseus acknowledges with a hint of pride.

Elsie is silent for a long moment before speaking in a fearful voice Tina has never heard before. “I have a mother’s instinct,” she says, her concern palpable. “I know something is not right.”

“That’s great, but _what?”_ Tina snaps despite herself. She cringes, immediately apologetic, but Elsie waves her off.

“I daresay all of our patience is to be stretched thin in coming days. But I have no idea.

“Now. I must go back to the manor, as I am afraid this is something that should be discussed further. Having no answers will, of course, be upsetting to Ignotus, who has the frustration tolerance of a two-year-old, but any suspicious developments must be duly noted amongst the council if we are to function the way we were intended to. Please keep me posted.” Elsie gets to her feet and kisses Tina, then Theseus.

“Night, Mum,” Theseus mumbles, and Tina manages the tail end of “...Mom.” It still feels odd, given how little time she’s really known Newt’s mother, but then again they’ve certainly been through the wringer together. Plus, she barely recalls having a mother, and this is kind of nice. Despite everything else that’s going on.

“You got any brilliant ideas?” Tina asks Theseus presently.

He leans back in his chair, hands behind his head. “None whatsoever,” he admits.

“Hey,” Tina feels compelled to say, suddenly feeling extremely guilty for so often disregarding how Theseus must feel. Newt is, after all, his little brother. “I think I know what to do,” she proclaims.

“Oh?”

The ghost of a grin is spreading across her face. “Yeah.” She gets up and goes to the stove, reaching for the kettle. “Tea and a biscuit.”

“I have taught you well,” Theseus remarks. He too manages a smile as he gets up to join her. “And now...?”

Hadn’t he said this to her back at Curare? “Now,” she says, filling the kettle, “we wait.”

* * *

Lucille is vengeful. Painfully, agonizingly vengeful. Beyond all reason.

She knows it. She knows that this entire situation is balled up. She does.

A bone-deep rage at those more fortunate than she has plagued Lucille since everything happened. She used to feel shame for it, before her morals became so convoluted as to be completely unrecognizable. Now the only vestiges left of that shame mix themselves into a perfect storm, a frenzied cacophony of emotion that sounds like nails on a chalkboard and feels like a meeting with death. And it dogs her every footstep, insistent and unforgiving.

Tina Goldstein... it isn’t fair. Lucille can’t hear Tina’s name or even _think_ about her without wanting to scream. Because Tina’s good fortune _isn’t fair._

People _love_ Tina when all she really does is run around hunting bad guys and doing whatever it is she does with Newt until he’s _blind_ to her flaws. How could it be possible that so many people like Tina and so few like Lucille? It simply isn’t _fair_ that the human populace should love some people and shun others, when they are no more or less deserving. It isn’t fair, it isn’t just, because Lucille knows — she _knows,_ no matter what people have told her through the years — that she is worth something too. That she _deserves_ something too. That she deserves love.

But nobody loves a vengeful little girl. A girl who has pushed everyone away. Who has let her niece die, let her family suffer alone. Whose mind is so irreparably tangled, tortured, twisted beyond belief, that she is not stable — not stable at all.

She rips off her cloche hat, hurls it at the wall, then leans forward onto her desk, chest heaving and head bowed.

The thing is, Lucille and Tina could be one and the same. They could easily have been friends, if things had gone differently. And yet here Tina is, esteemed career girl with a man who loves her more than life itself, while Lucille is, well, in a dingy hotel waiting to kill. Existing, but barely.

That Auror has _no idea._ The amount of people who have supported her and thought she was special and did not touch or violate her once... Lucille is _furious_ at them, could kill them _all_ if she had the chance. Any qualms she may have had about attacking what once was an innocent toddler have been successfully and aggressively quelled upon meeting Tina again. Because now she has reason: now she has stark proof of the injustice that she always suspected.

Lucille knows, knows that it hasn’t been easy for Tina. But it has, without a doubt, been far worse for her. The flashbacks that leave her gasping for breath now end in blinding fury at the Auror who has become her target, whose demise is the one thing that will make everything right and avenge an enduring history of pain.

Lucille falls onto her bed, cold and empty as the room. The familiar stranger of shame burns in the pit of her stomach now, and the pressure of impending tears weighs heavy on her chest. Her hands shake as she fights the voices in her head.

_You are ruined._

_Worthless._

_You will never get what you want._

**_This is not the way._ **

She knows that killing Tina won’t ultimately make her feel better. It will not undo the damage that has already been done. But it _will_ restore justice. Resentment is an evil, black thing that sits in the soul and corrupts every nook and cranny of the heart. It twists the brain until you cannot think about anything else. And over time, it settles like a permanent weight, a curse unto itself. Oppressive, bitter, volatile as a tempest.

 _It isn’t FAIR,_ Lucille screams internally. She is just as good, she is just as smart, pretty, brave.

Brave.

It’s a funny thing, bravery.

She has been brave all her life. Nobody knows, or cares. All they see is a selfish, vapid, nefarious villain. A murderer. Because that’s what she is. Any hope she may have harbored for self improvement, any spark that sustained years of relentless torment, is gone. Dissolved into ash and brutally, savagely destroyed under the stiletto heel of fate.

She tears her own shoes off now and throws them at the wall, where they make brutal contact and crack the plaster. Puffs of chalky dust emanate from a spider web of tiny fractures before dispersing into nothingness. It’s strangely satisfying, but then again so is any form of destruction.

Lucille is drunk on a cocktail of jealousy and resentment and a heady anger. Jealousy because she wants what Tina has. Resentment because Tina does not deserve it — or at least no more than Lucille. Angry because she despises feeling this way, this skin-crawling vindictiveness. It is pervasive and powerful and disruptive.

The only way to respond, the only way she _can_ respond, is impulsively. She could run away, but she has spent so much of her life standing up for herself that she would lose all self-respect. Instead, she will sabotage and manipulate and kill those who got what she deserves but will never get.

It.

Isn’t.

Fair.

Being alone never bothered her. Her walls are high and impenetrable. She does not care about anything but her objective.

Usually.

The problem is, she is trapped now. She can only dig herself into a deeper and deeper hole until she’s been buried alive. Everything she does (moving, breathing, screaming) will only worsen the pain. Will only make the darkness spread thick and all-consuming, through the chambers of a battered and abused heart.

Lucille sits with nothing but her fury and tears and hopelessness to fill the void. She is clenching her fists so tightly that when she unfolds her fingers, thin crescents of blood well up on her palms. She wipes them on her dress and bites her lip to stop whatever it is spilling out of her being, until she tastes metallic sorrow.

There is to be no hope for Lucille.

Only revenge.

The light is dimming rapidly outside. Darkness falls. She’s never experienced a dementor, but vaguely thinks it must feel something like this.

Lucille shuts her eyes and prays to a god she does not believe in. She breathes rapidly in and out, flinching as memories rear their fearsome heads. She swallows desperately, trying to hold on with rough, poisoned hands.

She must kill Tina. She must. Because she is wrecked already. There is no other course of action to be taken. Villains don’t get second chances. So this is her only one. She has chosen this path: nothing, at this point, will change it. Newt made the choice, the choice he was always going to make. The plan goes into action tomorrow. Even if she wanted to, she could not undo a thing. She is past the point of no return.

Lucille sees red and feels blue. Her mind is ashy white, the toxicity of her runaway feelings Slytherin green. It is fear and misery and rage and jealousy and pain and bitterness. A fatal concoction.

She knows the antidote.

Time, love, patience, safety.

She has none.

“I hate Tina Goldstein,” she says aloud to the room, feeling immense and almost sadistic satisfaction at the condemnation. She does: she possesses a visceral hatred for that woman, built up over the years and reinforced now that they've come face to face again.

Tina had Queenie. She had friends. She had love. Now, everyone knows her name. Now, her boyfriend is irrevocably in love with her. Now, she has it all. And Lucille is still just another face in the crowd. Robbed of recognition by a woman who _does not deserve it._

After such intensive and involuntary self introspection, she finds that she has calmed a little, and spends the next couple minutes readying herself for bed. Even the simple ministrations — washing her face, changing into pajamas — feel otherworldly and detached. As she drifts off into peaceful, blissful nothingness, only one thought pervades her mind as she thinks obsessively of Tina. Only one thought, enough to drive her over the edge and give her the strength to finish what she’s started.

Esmeralda and Callum both know that for years, Lucille stood up for them in the selfless, painful, and detrimental way that only a sister can. The way that only someone capable of _loving_ can.

She stood up for them, but nobody stood up for her.

Nobody will.

She’s on a fast track into the vises of self-destruction. And she is going to bring Tina down with her.

* * *

“Hey,” Sophia says, standing akimbo in the doorway.

Newt looks up gloomily. “I thought you were Theseus.”

“Nope, but if you’d prefer him —”

“No.”

“Can I come in?”

“You will no matter what I say.”

She tilts her head, then shrugs. “Fair point.” When she sits next to him on the bed, she reaches tentatively for his hand. He doesn't pull away. So his touch aversion is a Tina-specific thing. “What's wrong?”

“I cannot say.”

“You know Tina is holding it together out there, but you're making it pretty damn difficult for her to keep that up.”

He shakes his head wildly. “I cannot tell anyone. Only that something bad is going to happen — that I have made a mistake —”

“Something bad is always gonna happen,” Sophia says dismissively.

“But this is... potentially quite catastrophic,” he whispers.

“No, you're good,” she insists. “Come on, Newtie. Please?”

He's gone pale and shaky. Sophia frowns, because this is definitely more than insecurity. She hasn't seen him this distraught before. Ever.

“Hey,” she says, brow knitting in concern. “Did someone tell you something?”

He presses his lips together and shakes his head.

“Didja see something?”

Another headshake.

“Newt, if something’s gonna happen and you KNOW it's gonna happen, you gotta tell us so we can try to prepare.”

“It is not so easy,” he whispers. He squeezes her hand until his knuckles go white.

“Newt, you're... kinda scaring me,” Sophia admits, heart pounding when he doesn't respond.

“I love you."

Oh god. This is not good. This is... no, this isn't just Newt being Newt. He knows something, he must know something. But what? And why wouldn't he tell her, or Tina, or at least his brother or mom?

“Goodnight,” he says pointedly.

“You are _not_ going to bed,” Sophia states firmly. He might not tell anyone what's going on but damned if he's gonna hide away from the people who care.

“I cannot handle —”

She's ready to slap him, but she's also saving a slap for [when he really truly deserves it](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9509999/chapters/21637304). “Yes you can,” she says firmly. “You will. You will suck it up and go back downstairs. Jeepers, I never thought I'd have to convince _you_ to go be with your fiancée — sorry, girlfriend. That hasn't changed, has it?” she adds keenly. He glowers at her. “Shame. Anyway,” she hops up and drags him to his feet, “we’re going back downstairs and you're gonna _relax_ and we can talk or read or eat or you and Tina can go snog on the beach while Theseus and I do normal non-gross couple things here, but you're not playing this game.”

“It isn't a game,” he says bleakly, but follows her out the door.

“I really literally actually do not care at all,” Sophia informs him. “You're gonna spend time with us, ‘cause we’re your _family,_ and we love ya, and you love us. Especially me.” She beams. Instead of arguing with her or otherwise responding as he normally would, Newt pauses on the landing and grips the railing as hard as he’d gripped Sophia's hand.

“Something is going to happen,” he says hoarsely.

And it does.

* * *

_Week 10, Monday_

Lucille wakes up in a prison cell. Without her wand. Before she can scream or respond, a hooded man fills her vision.

“Where am I?” she asks shakily. Her head hurts; the lights are too bright.

“He sent me.”

“Why?”

“He needs something from you.”

Fear mounts within Lucille. “What does he need?”

“Memories.”

It hits her all at once.

_No._

He can’t possibly. He can’t have, he wouldn’t betray her, wouldn’t do that, because he has his own...

The hooded man’s wand tip presses hard and unforgiving to her temple.

“No!” Lucille screams.

“It was your decision.”

She clutches the cold metal bars frantically. “No, please, those are the only memories I have left — the only happy memories of —”

“He needs them.”

“He has them!” she cries maniacally. “He knew him too, he has his own — please don't,” she begs.

“He does not have the same as you.”

“He could, he felt love too, they were close —”

“It was his request.”

“I will do anything — I think I have made a mistake —”

“You are not having regrets, are you?”

“I…”

“That is all.”

* * *

Newt and Tina’s plans to go to London are cancelled when the Ministry receives a tip off and decides to pursue it unaccompanied instead. Everyone privately suspects that they aren't too eager to have Tina back in the limelight after the past few weeks' happenings. As a result, the couple spends the day doing virtually nothing and go to sleep unnecessarily early. Newt has relaxed externally since yesterday and has gone back to not jumping when they come in accidental contact (“What a ringing endorsement,” Sophia said dryly when Tina commented upon this earlier) but everyone can tell he's still wound tight and ready to crack at any given moment.

“It will be fine,” she reassures her boyfriend when they slip into bed. “I love you.”

He interlaces their fingers. “I know,” he whispers.

Does he? Does he really? Because Tina loves him more than she can say, more than she can convey, and it's ridiculous. Utterly, purely ridiculous that she should fall in love like this. For a long time she truly believed her heart to be immune, protected by concrete walls that gained a layer each time someone walked away, until its armor was so heavy and impenetrable that she often forgot it was there.

But then Newt Scamander came along and somehow broke through her defenses. She isn't sure when the turning point was. When he started being bolder about physical affection. When she stopped panicking every time he looked at her as though she mattered. When Sophia stopped intervening every other day, because translation was no longer necessary.

Somewhere along the way, through three attacks and darkness looming on the horizon, love bloomed.

And now it's being threatened.

Yet Tina knows Newt well enough by now, knows — and has had her beliefs confirmed by the other three people he’s closest to — that this is not him being insecure or skittish around her. This is something deeper, something terribly troubling that she's never experienced in him before.

“If you can't tell me,” she says softly, and pulls his head to rest over her heart, “that's okay.”

He clings to her, fingers tangling in her pajamas. “I wish I could.”

She finds his hand and kisses it, just as she had so long ago in the suitcase, before they even knew what the future held. The pain and the love in equal measure. “It's fine,” she reassures him, because it _is._ It has to be.

Tina trusts Newt with her life, plain and simple. She trusts that he would never withhold information from her without _very_ good reason.

“Will you tell me later?” she queries.

“I am afraid that you will have to see for yourself,” Newt replies, sounding wrecked.

“Fine,” she says.

“I love you,” he whispers, warm breath ghosting over her chest.

She loves him too, so entirely and irreversibly and fully that she cannot find the words. “Nothing bad will happen to us,” she says fiercely. “Nothing.”

“It will,” he says miserably. “Sooner or later, it will.”

* * *

Lucille jumps when she hears a soft whoosh and the muffled pitter-patter of feet approaching her cell. It’s getting dark outside; the hooded man is nowhere to be found.

Looking up, she recognizes the glint of icy blue eyes and white-blond hair, and her heart leaps. “Frida,” she gasps. The assassin gives a thin smile as she comes closer and, using her wand and a few murmured incantations, picks the enchanted lock.

 _“Now_ do you require my help?” Frida asks dryly as Lucille is freed.

“Oh, Frida,” and despite herself Lucille can't help but embrace her savior. Come to think of it, this woman has been the only one to stand the test of time, to demonstrate loyalty and to suggest that perhaps life is not only about revenge. She doesn’t know why or how.

But she is too far gone now.

“The damage is done,” she states.

Frida nods, understanding the non sequitur. “Everything will go as planned.”

“It was a mistake, all of it,” Lucille confesses before she can stop herself.

The assassin blanches and a heretofore never seen look of blatant remorse crosses her face. “You cannot turn back now. Mr. Scamander made his choice. You no longer have a say.”

“They took my memories,” Lucille whispers bleakly. “My good ones, of John.”

Frida looks up sharply. “What? How do you remember?”

“I held onto the memory.” She still doesn't know how it worked. But she did.

“Which one?” the assassin asks softly.

Lucille closes her eyes, pain and nostalgia and longing and love coming together to form a bittersweet sorrow. “Christmas.”

Frida rests an unusually gentle hand on Lucille’s shoulder. “We will get them back.”

“How?”

“Despite what you may believe, I am in fact a very talented assassin.”

“Sorry,” Lucille apologizes. She knows that. She never doubts Frida. Never. It’s herself that she doubts now.

“For now,” Frida says, pressing Lucille's wand into her hand “I have a visit to pay.”

* * *

Newt and Tina are just about to turn out the light when everything falls to pieces.

“Newton!” Elsie comes flying into the bedroom, face white as a sheet. Newt and Tina jump to their feet immediately, automatically grabbing their wands. “Newt, something’s happened!”

“What?” he asks urgently, worst case scenarios racing through his mind. Tina’s here. Sophia? Theseus?

“Your creatures escaped,” Elsie says despairingly. “In a rural Muggle farming village southeast of here.” She throws a photograph onto the bed for them to behold. Newt’s heart goes cold.

It’s a bloodbath, and this is only a snapshot. Newt recognizes his creatures, big and small, going mad, stampeding, attacking Muggles every which way. A little boy in the corner is getting strangled by an invisible force, his mum screaming and trying to save him. Bodies fall as claws rip and tear and destroy.

“How?” Tina asks shrilly, and squeezes Newt’s hand hard.

Elsie throws out her arms. “I don’t know!” she cries, tears sparkling in her eyes.

Sophia and Theseus come thundering down the hall. “The case was stolen,” Theseus announces grimly.

“The little Pembroke girl, Daisy, said a lady took it,” Sophia adds. “She said she had yellow hair. That was it.”

Newt hears a distant roaring in his ears, a sort of sloshing sound that must be blood pumping through his veins. Which is peculiar, because he _feels_ as though he ought to have flatlined already.

His beasts, killing people. They wouldn’t. They couldn’t. Something is wrong; someone did this. The same person who caused Fairclaw to attack him and Dougal to attack Sophia.

Before he can try to muster words, an owl flies through the window and drops a hastily folded note on the bed. It’s from Andy.

_Newt: they’re sending backup now._

Five of the most useless words in the history of notes. But Newt knows what “backup” means.

“They’re going to kill them,” he breathes, still unable to process how this happened but knowing full well that he is _not_ going to let the bloody Ministry of Magic murder his beasts. Rage and terror bubble up as Tina, face pale and drawn, tries to put a pacifying hand on his arm. “THEY’RE GOING TO KILL THEM!” he roars.

“Newt, please, it’s not safe —” Sophia begs.

“They won’t get them,” he says tightly, then turns to Tina and kisses her. “I love you.”

“Newt, no!” Tina pleads as he pulls away: there must be a better plan, a less rash plan, a plan which does not include running into the Ministry’s crossfire. She repeats it louder, a desperate echo as he Disapparates — _Newt, NO! —_ and then he’s gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Truth be told, I’m a resentful person myself. I’ve watched others (writers, people) who I felt were at least as deserving or talented as me get all the recognition. Lucille experiences that tenfold. She realizes now that this might not be the way to go, and at the same time, she can’t do anything. At the end of the day, she is still willing to kill regardless of her conscience and doubt; an unstable murderer (like Phillip) is bad news all around.
> 
> I’m back to not checking any inboxes (it’s a time sucker and can be frustrating when I’m more sensitive, and my mental health recently has hit an all time low, and I’m barely surviving five simultaneous college classes) but Fen stalks my profile and will usually tell me if there’s an exceptionally nice comment she thinks I ought to read :P
> 
> Upcoming chapters:  
> -Well, obviously Newt just ran right into danger, so that’ll have to pan out  
> -Sophia is the fucking boss okay so like SHE’S GOT THE SITUATION UNDER CONTROL  
> -Sopheus and Newtina go on a mission. $quad amirite  
> -Bad shit happens on Scamander Island but also Elsie is amazing *cries* I'm so obsessed with her after writing a boss scene  
> -Final battle  
> -Lucille and Tina confrontation  
> -The end


	79. You seemed to vanish like a dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Ministry is kind of a bitch but also the creatures just killed a bunch of people, and Newtina and Sopheus have got their work cut out for them.
> 
> “They’re all dead!” a wizard shouts. “All the Muggles are dead!”
> 
> Emmeline turns a steely glare on Newt. “Your beasts just killed an entire Muggle town.”
> 
> “No, please,” Newt is begging, his heart breaking as he sees that half the dead forms on the ground are his own creatures, “don’t hurt them, they did not —”
> 
> “It doesn't matter why they did it, Mr. Scamander. They have killed.”
> 
> Chapter title from “All Alone” by Irving Berlin (1924)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay there’s like HELLA hurt/comfort up in here. Also action because now our favorite fearsome foursome have a lot of work to do. AND THIS ISN'T EVEN THE FINAL BATTLE YET JFC
> 
> I felt like posting another one to make up for the semi-cliffhanger of last chapter and because I've slacked on this fic.
> 
> Important ETA end note.

Unsurprisingly, Tina doesn’t think twice before following her boyfriend. Which leaves Scamander Island in very capable, if slightly shaky hands. Although she too is in panic mode, Sophia knows that if she cracks, everyone else is going to crack too, and thus rapidly takes inventory of the situation.

Someone (someone really talented, at that, to have gotten past so many barriers and gone undetected in what was essentially plain sight) stole the case and set the animals loose — savage — on Muggles. It happened in maybe half an hour. “Backup” from the Ministry and possibly MACUSA, if this keeps up, is going to kill the creatures. Newt and Tina have run into mortal peril. (Well, _that_ one was always a given.)

“Okay,” Sophia decides, “Mom, you stay here. The island needs you.” Elsie sets her jaw and nods, looking to the young woman as she would look to an army general before battle. Which could very well be accurate. Sophia turns to Theseus. “We need to get that case,” she says firmly. “We can’t safely get any of the creatures back without it.”

“But Newton —” he protests in a pained tone of voice. A wave of nausea, pure fear, courses over Sophia, but she grits her teeth and wills it away.

“He has Tina,” she says bracingly, because that honestly makes all the difference. “He’s not coming back anytime soon, and we need to find that case.”

Theseus nods. “Where to?”

She hugs Elsie, then grabs Theseus’s hand. “Come on.”

* * *

Tina lands in a field of corn and, glancing up, sees Newt scramble to his feet and start running. She follows.

“No!” Newt yells when she catches up to him. He tries to push her away. “It’s not safe —”

They can hear the screams in real time here, ten times worse than they could have imagined from the photograph. Tina spins him towards her and grips his face in her hands. “Together, or not at all,” she says fiercely.

He pauses, leans in and kisses her, eyes darting wildly between Tina and the not so distant chaos, then takes her hand in tacit agreement.

* * *

“How did she get through?” Sophia asks, pacing back and forth in the spare room where the case was less than an hour ago. “Only a _really_ skilled sorceress could get past the case spells, and no villain could get past the ones around the island.”

“I don’t know,” Theseus replies as helplessly as ever. “What will become of Newt and Tina?”

“They’ll be fine, they have to be,” Sophia says sharply. “Whoever did this let the beasts loose but they wouldn’t have left the case at the scene of the crime.” She wracks her brains for a moment, then snaps her fingers. “Edinburgh. Where Tina met up with Lucille. Let’s try there.”

Theseus nods and stands up.

“Hang on,” Sophia says, biting her lip before finally deciding. “We might have to leave.”

“What?” he asks in alarm.

“Leave. For now, at least. For more than a day, I mean. We can’t… we can’t stop until we figure this out, you _know_ that, please, Theseus,” she begs, tugging at his arm.

“What does that mean?”

“Have you ever been camping?” she inquires.

“Come again?”

“Camping. You know, you’re outside, in this thing called a tent, usually soldiers do it at some point or other but then again —”

“There is a tent at the manor,” he says promptly.

Sophia beams. “Swell. Let’s go, then.”

* * *

“Newt, get the creatures!” Tina screams at him, darting in between bodies and people, trying to somehow round up the crazed beasts while simultaneously shielding herself. “I’ll save the No-Majs!”

Emmeline appears before her. “Miss Goldstein!” she says in displeased surprise. Tina glares at the woman none too kindly and begins running through spells in her mind. God, it’s been awhile since she trained for a situation such as this, but she quickly gets her thoughts straight and rolls up her sleeves both literally and figuratively, brushing past the Undersecretary.

More Ministry employees appear around Tina as she begins casting advanced shield charms and trying to use gentle but powerful spells to deter the beasts. These spells don’t appear to be quite as effective as they are on people, however (probably because she’s doing her utmost to avoid seriously harming the creatures), and time is running out as No-Maj bodies start hitting the ground.

“That’s the one!” Emmeline shouts; Tina spins around and sees the Undersecretary aiming at Fairclaw, who’s poised to strike. “The one who attacked him!”

“NO!!!” Newt shrieks from behind, but the jet of light hits the hippogriff squarely in the chest and she collapses.

“You BITCH!” Tina screams, and shoots a spell at Emmeline, who deflects it and looks at the Auror in shock.

“That savage beast killed Muggles!” she cries in outrage.

Tina’s eyes flash furiously. “She — wasn’t — _SAVAGE!”_ She fires another curse — but this is not the time to be hot-headed. They have far more serious things to worry about now.

“Tina!” Newt yells. Their erumpent is barrelling towards her; she moves to duck, but suddenly realizes something strange. The erumpent doesn’t look possessed; she looks happy to see her caretaker, as though Tina has just returned from a long trip. Just like Dougal, who was so unexpectedly calm and affectionate, if slightly bewildered, after attacking Sophia.

“Wait!” Tina exclaims, but it’s too late, and she has to duck to avoid the five spells that fly over her head and hit the erumpent with a heavy thud. The creature keels over. _No no no no no…_ “Its horn!” Tina tries to warn. Too late again: the horn explodes, catapulting a group of terrified No-Majs into the air. They land on the ground, skulls slamming into concrete and cobblestones, and go still.

She sprints over to Newt as Ministry officials cluster around the bodies, all yelling instructions at one another over the commotion of No-Maj screams and the creatures’ cries as they become increasingly frenzied. “They aren’t savage!” Tina shouts to her boyfriend. She tries to halt a nundu bearing down on a cluster of No-Majs trying to run and slipping on blood, but he gnashes his teeth, rears, and the spell misses.

“I know they aren’t!” Newt responds, trying to duck the Ministry’s crossfire and get to the mooncalves — who have somehow gone murderous and are ruthlessly trampling children — before anyone else does.

“No, Newt — they’re tame with us, it’s the No-Majs!”

“What?”

“Just trust me,” Tina implores. “Try to get near them. They won’t hurt you. If they just let us get to them, calm them down…”

Newt nods. Although he clearly has no idea what Tina’s talking about, he trusts her implicitly, and Tina can’t help but warm at that.

The magizoologist breaks into a sprint after a dappled male hippogriff, Stormhook, who’s ready to pounce. “Stormhook!” Newt calls.

The creature pauses, recognizes his rescuer, and bows regally. But when he looks back at the Muggles, his gaze goes feral, just as Fairclaw’s had.

“No, Stormhook!” Newt orders. “Leave them alone! Come here, come to Mummy, there’s a good boy…”

Stormhook hesitates, turning towards his caretaker, but then a Ministry official appears, wand drawn.

“GO!” Newt hollers instinctively at the creature, praying to the powers that be that the hippogriff will understand and flee. With a great flap of his wings, Stormhook flies into the air and disappears over the horizon. “They’ll listen to me,” Newt realizes out loud, and turns to the confused government official at his side. “If you just tell them to stop, the beasts will listen, they will go if Tina and I can only get close enough to calm them down —”

“They are murderers now, Mr. Scamander,” Emmeline says dangerously, pushing the bewildered employee away. “They must be contained.”

“Just let me, trust me!” he pleads, and sees Tina trying to wrangle Dougal off of another Muggle child, uttering a frantic series of incantations, but nothing seems to be working and she has to keep ducking spells, which throws off her aim. “They’ll listen, _please —”_

Tina cries out as the child falls lifeless into her arms. “They’re all dead!” a wizard shouts. “All the Muggles are dead!”

Emmeline turns a steely glare on Newt. “Your beasts just killed an entire Muggle town.”

“No, please,” Newt is begging, his heart breaking as he sees that half the dead forms on the ground are his own creatures, “don’t hurt them, they did not —”

“It doesn't matter why they did it, Mr. Scamander. They have killed.”

“Go!” Newt hears Tina yell, getting to her feet and shooing the surviving beasts away. She looks at Newt desperately. “We can’t save them! We don’t have the case, go on —”

“Those animals must be examined! Exterminated!” Emmeline cries.

The creatures stare at Newt and Tina for guidance. The fire has left their eyes; a number are injured, limping, and they all appear disoriented and confused as to how they got here. “Go,” Tina says shakily, taking a step towards where they have instinctively congregated together. Then, louder, as Ministry officials raise their wands and advance, “GO!”

She grabs Newt’s hand and they run at the creatures, shooing them away into the surrounding woods. They must look utterly ridiculous, but the trust and understanding between the couple and their beasts has never been more vital. Anywhere is safer than here.

“That was a poor choice, Mr. Scamander,” Emmeline hisses furiously as the last little now-orphaned mooncalf bounds away, but she aborts her staff before they pursue the remaining beasts. “Take care of this” — she gestures to what remains of the town’s population — “and send for assistance,” she instructs an employee sporting a broken nose and black eye.

“Let’s go,” Tina whispers to Newt, realizing that they have a much larger problem now. He squeezes her hand and, before Emmeline can make another scathing remark, they’re gone.

* * *

When they land back in their empty bedroom, Tina finally notices that tears are streaming down her boyfriend’s face. “Oh no, Newt,” she says miserably.

“They’re dead. Half of them. At least,” he chokes out, falling limply onto the bed. Tina, standing between his knees, cradles his head against her stomach as his hands come up to grasp her shirt.

“I know, I know,” she murmurs, her own heart breaking twofold as she watches Newt suffer.

“They were...” He can’t find the words, and shakes his head instead, tears dampening the front of her blouse. This is worse, so much worse than MACUSA last year.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers.

“The graphorns — did you see if they escaped?” he asks urgently, looking up at Tina.

“I don’t know,” she admits painfully. “I didn’t see.”

“They could have killed off an entire species,” Newt says, absolutely devastated, and clutches her all the harder.

Tina holds back her own tears — they can’t have both of them emotional wrecks when there is a much, _much_ more problematic situation brewing — and falls to her knees, gazing up at him. She cups his neck in her hand and pulls him down, pressing his forehead against hers and forcing him to make eye contact. “I love you,” she reminds him, and it’s so _wonderful_ to be able to say it out loud.

He gives a deep, shuddering breath and pulls her into his arms. “I love you,” he echoes into her ear as she holds him as much as he holds her.

“Oh good, you’re back...” Sophia’s voice trails off as she sees Newt. She sucks in a breath. “Oh, god. What happened?”

Tina briefs her, remembering now that they were Sophia's creatures — children, really — too. She relinquishes Newt as his assistant comes over and sits next to him.

“I’m sorry, big bro,” she says, voice cracking, and he wraps his arm around her tightly. Sophia reaches over and takes his hand. “We loved them.”

He just hugs her, at a loss for words. Looking on with a somber Theseus from the doorway, Tina can’t help but feel an ache as she watches the two of them. It’s impossible now not to believe that they’re brother and sister: the bond they share is so evident. Much as they bicker and he pretends not to care, he obviously loves Sophia as much as he does his own family — as much as he does Tina. He _needs_ that little girl.

Tina abruptly recalls how upset she’d been when Sophia first joined their group. How she had felt so terrible and inadequate watching the ease of their relationship while she and Newt were still stumbling blindly through their own. Now, she is deeply, unspeakably grateful for the fact that they understand one another so inherently. That they found each other. Because he may be in love with Tina with every fiber of his being, but right now his dumb little sister is the one who can comfort him best.

“Hey,” Sophia says thickly, sitting up. “Get it together, you boob.”

Newt swipes a hand over his nose, sniffling, and straightens.

“We got work to do,” Sophia tells both him and Tina. Her face is haggard, but her eyes blaze with fierce determination. It imbibes Tina with something akin to hope, or at least much-needed resolve. “We can cry and mourn and grieve later, but time’s ticking and we have a crapton of beasts to track down before the Ministry kills them, and also no suitcase or place to put them. So... that’s not what you want.”

“We have a plan,” Theseus puts in, pushing himself off the doorframe and joining Sophia.

They explain hurriedly — Newt and Tina agree, of course — then exchange one last, slightly hopeless, _this better effing work_ look. Newt reaches for Sophia’s hand this time; Tina smiles warmly at them. She loops her arm around her boyfriend’s elbow, Theseus grasps her shoulder, and they Disapparate.

* * *

They all land on the outskirts of Edinburgh. Sophia turns to Newt and Tina; it’s been decided that the two of them will do whatever they can to find the creatures, or at least get a sense of where they’ve gone and precisely how much danger they are in, and what it will take to recover the remaining ones. “You know where you’re going?”

“Yes,” Newt says impatiently. Sophia’s contagious tenacity has renewed his courage, and he feels about ten times as alive as he did last year in New York. Come to that, this is well on its way to rivaling the events of 1926. But this time, they have Sophia and Theseus and Elsie, and they _will_ figure all of this out. They have no other choice, after all.

“How long has it been since you flew?” Sophia asks. She’s expanded her bag enough so it can hold the tent, food and clothes, and, as becomes evident, brooms. “I thought you might want a bird’s eye view, and dragons were in short supply, and hippogriffs...” Newt’s face falls; Sophia grimaces. “Sorry. Anyway, meet back here in two hours.”

Newt and Tina nod.

“Good luck, big bro,” Sophia says, standing on tiptoes to peck Newt on the cheek. “Love ya.”

“Love you too,” Newt mumbles, then oh so chivalrously helps Tina onto her broom. Despite the somber mood, Theseus laughs at the appalled expression on Sophia’s face; there is no doubt in anybody’s mind that such behavior would _not_ be received well if a man dared to imply that _she_ was incapable of something as basic as mounting a broom. (To be honest, Newt has gotten into the habit of overdoing it on the “chivalry” purely to annoy his sister. Tina doesn’t seem to mind too much.)

“Alright,” Sophia says, having recovered from the disgust. She grabs Theseus by the wrist. “Let’s go.”

Illustration by Fennethianell [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9673577/chapters/21850259) (AO3) and[here](http://fennethianell.tumblr.com/post/158369874807/theyre-dead-half-of-them-at-least-he-chokes) (Tumblr).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ETA: I've been very frustrated because people continue to nitpick (IMO) and point out different plot-holes which I consider entirely irrelevant to the entertainment value. I do my best to adhere to canon and do research and create the TWMLLO universe and write actual PLOT and OCs, so to have people commenting not on any of that but on small things that don't contribute to/detract from those aspects of the story, is just... frustrating.
> 
> Original end note:
> 
> Whew okay that was quite a lot packed into one chapter! I'm so sorry I had to kill off Fairclaw *grimaces* okay but my excuse is that she was the Hedwig of TWMLLO and she died valiantly and I promise she will not be forgotten.
> 
> Newt was really emotional, I know. And I honestly debated that a lot. But I’m relatively certain he was teary-eyed at Jacob and Queenie's goodbye, and he was devastated when they took away his suitcase, and after Pickett, so I think that all things considered it would be pretty damn upsetting to find out that his creatures have been killed. 
> 
> On a slightly happier note, have some Georgie Henley/William Moseley sibling inspo for Newt and Sophia.  
>  (one of my favorites tbh)  
>   
>   
>   
>   
>   
> 


	80. Since my baby went away I ain't got no time to lose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sophia and Theseus get a good workout, and Newt and Tina find the animals.
> 
> “It was a trap,” Theseus gasps.
> 
> “Yeah, just a little,” Sophia replies, pale as a ghost. Then, “Who d’you think they were?"
> 
> “Must’ve been Grindelwald’s followers.”
> 
> Sophia grits her teeth, but quickly prioritizes. “We still don’t know where the case is. Where else can we —”
> 
> “Run!” Theseus shouts, seeing dark figures materialize down the road, wands drawn. 
> 
> Chapter title from “Crazy Blues” by Perry Bradford (1920)
> 
> P.S. Sorry I'm Sopheus trash, and since this chapter mostly features them finding the case, there's a lot of Sopheus. Please excuse it. There's already been plenty of Newtina in this fic and I promise there will be lots of goodies in the future as well!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness, it’s been a little while since I updated! Reasons being 1. I’m persistently insecure about writing, 2. My mental health has been subpar, 3. School has been absolutely ridiculous and taken over my life, and 4. My muses were NOT cooperating. I literally wrote and rewrote this chapter and I have a doc with like 3 totally different versions of it. Also I've been recently super stressed because I want to write a good story and I'm like really scared that I'm going to mess it up now that it's getting action-y and important (at least to me).
> 
> I got a reprieve from schoolwork so I thought I would post. (“Hopefully it doesn’t suck,” my angsty hormonal 15-year-old self stuck in a 20-year-old’s 4’11” body says.) Enjoy! (Sorry for the end note, but if you want to watch a tour of my TWMLLO Drive folder take a look)
> 
> I suppose people have issues with dialogue-heavy chapters, so I'll also put a tl;dr in the end notes if you're one of those.

Once they near the speakeasy, Sophia ducks into a public bathroom to change, emerging in a flapper dress that leaves her looking inappropriately old and completely unlike herself, which Theseus does not like one bit. As becoming as her ball gown was, he has to admit that he still prefers her in the same knickers-and-blouse combination she’s worn the majority of their time together.

While Sophia changes, Theseus dons a newsboy cap, collar, braces, and a bowtie. He is no more a fan of abandoning his own work shirt and trousers than his companion is of dressing up, but desperate times. Sophia stares weirdly when she sees him; he raises an eyebrow. “Is there a problem?”

He could _swear_ she blushes. “Nope, not at all,” she says, turning her head carefully. “Looks good.”

“Thank you?”

“Yep.” She takes off on her own, leaving Theseus to catch up (not that it takes more than two steps). Then together and with only a beat of tense hesitation, they step into the establishment.

The speakeasy is alight with activity by this time of night. Smoke fills the air, a sultry jazz singer is in rare form, and glasses clink as shots are taken and conversation gets rowdier. Heads turn when they pass by, possibly because they recognize Theseus, but men in particular seem to be ogling Sophia. Theseus does _not_ like this any more than he likes Sophia’s get-up, and shoots them all death glares.

“Come on,” Sophia murmurs, gesturing to the bar and taking a seat. He follows her lead.

“Do we have a plan?” he asks in an undertone.

“Um... not exactly,” she replies.

He grins despite the gravity of the situation. “Really?”

“Shut up,” she mutters, hitting him.

“You gonna order?” a cranky house-elf asks.

“Uh, I’ll have a —”

Theseus puts a hand on her arm and shakes his head firmly. “Water, please,” he orders.

“I can drink!” she says indignantly as the bartender rolls his eyes and walks to the tap.

“Yes, but I don't want you to,” Theseus replies calmly.

Sophia glowers. “I'm totally —”

Theseus coughs loudly at a young man clearly making a beeline for Sophia. The guy halts, uncertain. Sophia waves cheerfully; taking this as encouragement, he approaches her and slides into the seat on her other side.

“Hi, doll,” he drawls.

Theseus grits his teeth.

“What brings you here?”

Much to Theseus's horror, Sophia emits a tinkling, coquettish laugh. “Young men like _you,_ I suppose,” she responds, winking.

The blithering idiot puffs up with pride. “Then you've come to the right place.”

Another laugh. “Oh, you _slay_ me! Isn’t this the berries? I'm Addie,” she introduces herself, extending a hand. Theseus rolls his eyes at the pseudonym: Adelaide is her hated middle name. He enjoys bringing it up from time to time.

The man kisses the back of Sophia's hand and tips his hat. “Kenny,” he says with a smirk. “Can I buy you a drink?”

Sophia beams. “Of c —”

“No, she can't,” Theseus butts in. Sophia kicks him.

“Sorry, what?” Kenny looks nonplussed.

“She can't, because she's engaged,” Theseus says before he can stop himself. Sophia and Kenny gape at him. “To me,” he adds as an afterthought.

 _What the hell?_ Sophia mouths angrily at him.

“I don't see no ring,” Kenny says suspiciously.

Sophia tries to play it off. “Oh, that's just my —”

“Water,” the house-elf grunts, and a glass lands at Sophia's elbow.

“This is balled up,” Kenny declares, his interest turning into disgust.

“I'm not actually engaged —” Sophia tries to say, but he scoffs and shakes his head, then tucks his thumbs into his suspenders and walks away. “What is your _problem?!”_ she hisses at Theseus.

“Nothing,” he answers stoutly. “Except all those men are out here to take advantage of you —”

“You're just like Newt,” Sophia fumes.

“We both care about you,” Theseus reasons.

“I was gonna try and get something out of him about the suitcase!” Sophia snaps furiously. “Now he'll go and tell his friends I'm engaged, and none of them will want to talk to me — good job, _Theseus.”_

He does feel marginally bad, although to be fair after Nelson’s little girlfriend stunt, both he and his brother are decently leery of any man coming near Sophia. Before he can try to make amends, another patron, ostensibly having not heard the news of their fake engagement, starts walking purposefully towards the bar. Sophia shoves Theseus away and fixes her hair, subtly adjusting the already inappropriately low neckline of her dress.

“Hiya, sweetheart,” the fellow says.

“Hello,” Sophia purrs — purrs! — and casts him a coy smile.

“Can I get you a drink?” he asks. Do these men not realize that Theseus _exists?_ To be fair, he and Sophia are sitting pretty far apart and not touching, plus there's the issue of rings and lack thereof, but _still._

“I’d love that,” she simpers.

He turns to the bartender. “Blishen’s Firewhisky.” The house-elf inclines his head. For a moment, Theseus thinks he sees a look pass between the two. Sophia glances over at him; she must have noticed it too.

He remains quiet and inconspicuous (albeit very angry) while the mundane conversation plays out. Sophia, much to his relief, only pretends to drink the alcohol until finally, she’s able to work Newt into the conversation.

“You know, I heard his case of creatures went missing,” she says airily. “It could be anywhere in the world, what a shame!” She hiccups for effect. “I'm sure you wouldn't know anything.”

“What does it look like?” the bloke questions.

Sophia offers a brief description.

He frowns. “You know, someone dropped off a suitcase when I was coming in a few hours ago. Asked us to keep an eye on it.”

“Oh?” Sophia says, carefully neutral. “Interesting... and where’d they leave it, d’you know?”

“Backroom.” He gestures to the door.

“Swell, thanks,” Sophia says, sounding much more like herself. She hops off the barstool.

“Hey, not so fast,” the guy objects, and reaches out to touch the small of her back.

THAT’S quite enough, Theseus decides. He takes her firmly by the hand — in a much more _coupley_ manner than she usually drags him around with — and pulls her away.

“That was rude!” Sophia says furiously, shaking his fingers out from where he’d interlaced them.

“He was _touching_ you!”

“Yes, Theseus, that's what sleazy men _do_ when they're flirting with girls.”

“I don't,” he mutters.

“Jeepers,” Sophia groans, “you and Newt act like you want me to be _celibate_ for the rest of my life —”

Theseus, not for the first time this evening, is horrified. “I said no such thing!”

“Whatever,” she sighs, and stands akimbo. “So, where to?”

He points to an arrow labeled _Back Room._ “I’m guessing we ought to follow the sign.”

“Hang on,” Sophia says, stopping him before he opens the door. “You saw the way he and that house-elf looked at each other, right?”

“It was unsettling,” he admits.

“Where's Tina and her fancy detection spells when we need her,” Sophia laments.

“I daresay she has more pressing matters to focus on,” Theseus points out.

“Yeah, save the world from mass slaughter, whatever,” Sophia replies ironically. “Okay, well... here goes.”

They both hold their wands at the ready as they enter the room. Nothing happens. “Could it actually be so easy?” Theseus wonders, brow crinkling in trepidation.

“I don't know, but we better check at least,” Sophia replies in a voice trying to be confident.

The case is sitting on a shelf in the corner amongst a few other battered pieces of luggage and messenger style bags.

“Well, it's right there,” Sophia says dubiously. “I mean, they've already got what they wanted from it, I doubt they'd spend too much time trying to keep it from us. And we know Lucille comes here, so maybe she just dropped it and ran. Or whoever stole the case did.” Theseus, wand held cautiously aloft, reaches for it.

But then, all of a sudden, Sophia realizes that something is off. It’s her case as much as Newt’s and she can _feel_ it the same way as a mother can inherently tell when her baby is in trouble — or when someone tries to pass off another baby as her own. Despite it being a perfect match aesthetically, this is _not_ the right suitcase.

“Theseus, stop!” she shouts, but too late.

His hand comes down on the handle, and there are several loud cracks followed by a commotion outside. Theseus and Sophia look at each other, panicked.

“They’re in there!” someone shouts.

“F —” Theseus starts, when Sophia yanks him towards her and Disapparates.

* * *

They land outside the Berwick library.

“It was a trap,” Theseus gasps.

“Yeah, just a little,” Sophia replies, pale as a ghost. Then, “Who d’you think they were?”

“Must’ve been Grindelwald’s followers.”

Sophia grits her teeth, but quickly prioritizes. “We still don’t know where the case is. Where else can we —”

“Run!” Theseus shouts, seeing dark figures materialize down the road, wands drawn. He grabs Sophia’s hand and sprints; the figures follow. They quickly gain on the two of them, and as he looks up there are still more coming towards them.

“Who are they?” one of their pursuers yells. “That ain't Scamander and Goldstein!”

“I think I gave us away,” Sophia pants.

“Why?” Theseus asks, ducking under several clotheslines strung between two apartment buildings.

“If you didn't notice, I'm about a foot shorter than Tina. You could've passed for Newt,” Sophia adds, tugging him the opposite direction as voices come closer.

Theseus and Sophia take a sharp right; Sophia points her wand and a door flies open, allowing them to sprint through a bookstore together and come out on the other side, but the others bear down on them before they can catch their breath.

They have magic for a reason, Theseus remembers. Loath as he is to turn this into a massive chase, there is the possibility that they will be followed even if they escape, and so until he can slap together a plan — while being chased down by Grindelwald’s army — they need to buy time.

“How did they know to follow us?” Sophia asks as they hurtle down a back alley.

“Lucille probably knows we’ve been here,” he points out. Frankly, he was hoping to outrun or even duel them, try to get some information, but with Sophia at his side he isn’t taking any risks. If they start run-Apparating like their pursuers are, that means also running the risk of landing right in front of someone who potentially wants to kill them. Footsteps get louder; they’re severely outnumbered at this point.

“Theseus!” Sophia yells. He hesitates, mind working furiously, and then seizes her arm and Disapparates.

* * *

They land on Scamander Island. Elsie comes running and throws her arms around them, relieved and then angry when Sophia recounts their little adventure. She rounds on her son first. “Why the _hell_ would you not come _straight_ to the island?” she demands to know.

“We have no time to waste,” Theseus says defensively, and much to his relief Sophia agrees. “I was thinking that perhaps I —”

“This is not the time to be a war hero!” Elsie exclaims. “You are not here to interrogate suspects or go up against Merlin knows how many of Grindelwald’s followers alone!”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Theseus snaps.

Sophia defuses the tension before mother and son can get into an argument, explaining, “We just need to come up with a plan and then go back, ‘cause the case is out there somewhere.”

“Where else could it be?” Theseus asks, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

Sophia looks frenzied; her hair is a mess and her cheeks are still flushed from the chase. “They knew Tina would go there first. They must have it somewhere they think she and Newt would never think to look... or maybe wouldn't go to. Are there any places they would never go?”

“I don't know.” Theseus scratches his neck. “I really don't know.”

“Well, they could be anywhere!” Sophia cries.

“Elsie!” David comes barreling down the boardwalk as Elsie is opening her mouth to respond. “We have a situation brewing in Wyverthwaite. Oh,” he says in surprise, noticing Theseus and Sophia. “You’re back.”

“Not for long,” Sophia says ominously. Theseus rolls his eyes at how _dramatic_ she is sometimes.

“Oh dear,” Elsie frets. “Can it wait?”

David shakes his head. “They heard about the Muggle attack, and they’re demanding answers that I keep telling them we don’t have. If they get too worked up they might leave the safety of the island.”

Elsie shuts her eyes for a moment. “Very well,” she says, and kisses both her son and Sophia, visibly steeling herself. “Be safe, darling.”

“We will,” Theseus replies as his mother hurries down the boardwalk towards the village.

“Why does everyone always _say_ that, like we have any control over it?” Sophia asks irascibly. They perch on “their” boulders — dubbed as such because the size difference is approximately representative of their own, and they’ve had many a heart-to-heart sitting upon them — which are located on the fringes of the beach, surrounded by tall grasses. “Like, no, sorry, I was actually planning to get myself killed, would that be okay with you? Honestly... although I guess if you’re Newt and Tina it makes sense. Y’know, don’t make any stupid — hey, you okay?”

“I just cannot figure out what to do,” Theseus confesses, having buried his head in his hands.

Sophia racks her brains. “The Pembroke girl, Daisy. Where is she? We could ask if she remembers anything else.”

“Ignotus is likely with Mum and David, but surely the children are asleep by now.”

Sophia waves dismissively. “Eh, who needs sleep?”

“Young children?” Theseus suggests.

“They don’t have to do anything else, they can sleep during the day, or have coffee or something. Come on.” She hops up.

“You,” Theseus says wearily, also getting to his feet, “are simply destined for motherhood.”

“I’ll be amazing,” Sophia says airily. “Either that or I’ll marry a guy who knows things about parenting like the fact that children _supposedly_ need sleep.”

“Good luck finding a guy who will put up with everything I put up with from you,” Theseus remarks as they head towards the Pembroke’s residence.

“Thanks, I’ll need it,” Sophia replies only partly sarcastically.

“No, you won’t,” Theseus mutters, but luckily she either doesn’t hear or ignores it.

As any idiot could have correctly surmised, Daisy is asleep when they knock on the Pembrokes’ door. There’s still shouting in the distance; evidently the rest of the island, on the other hand, is very much _not_ asleep. Lacy seems almost as stressed as Elsie as she invites them over the threshold.

“Sorry,” Sophia apologizes. “We just have a real situation here and we thought she might tell us more.”

Lacy shakes her head. “I don’t think there _is_ any more to it. All she knows is that the woman had blond hair, and I do believe that’s all she saw of her. Daze is a smart girl. She’d be able to tell us if she knew more.”

“I mean... that narrows down all the brunettes and gingers in the world,” Sophia muses. “Plus people with grey or white hair. And bald people. And we know it’s a woman, not a man. So really, we’re on the right track.”

“How encouraging,” Theseus says dryly. Then, much more sincerely, “Thank you, Lacy.”

The woman nods, mouth a tight line, and bids them a good night.

“That was useless,” Sophia complains as they walk away.

“Well, it was good for one thing,” Theseus says lightly.

She eyes him suspiciously. “What?”

He winks at her. “For proving me right.”

“Oh shut up, I didn’t say they _weren’t_ asleep,” Sophia huffs.

He puts his arm around her teasingly and squeezes. “Of course you didn’t. Because Sophia _Adelaide_ Ollerton is never wrong.”

“She isn’t, and don’t use my middle name!” Sophia says angrily. At least it’s not her _first_ name. “But we really need to get going.”

“Short of simply Apparating every single place we can think of —” Theseus starts.

“That’s it,” Sophia says suddenly, snapping her fingers.

Theseus looks at her incredulously. “That is really your method? To Apparate everywhere we have ever been? You _know_ you can only Apparate places you are familiar with, and although I have been nearly everywhere in the United Kingdom, that covers only a fraction of the places the suitcase could be.”

Sophia crosses her arms. “You got any other brilliant ideas?” She sighs, shoulders drooping in semi-defeat. “Look, running around like it’s a goddamn scavenger hunt isn’t want I wanna be doing either, but it’s a _hell_ of a lot better than staying here bickering about parenthood.”

It’s true. After all, there’s still a higher chance they’ll stumble upon it out there than sitting around on the beach while Newt and Tina go on an extremely important and probably risky (most thing are, nowadays) mission. “So what are we going to do?”

Sophia shrugs. “I guess we could just start in Scotland, see if we see anything suspicious?”

It’s a truly abysmal plan, but it works.

* * *

Tina, being an Auror, and Newt, being obnoxiously good at everything, are both efficient flyers and quickly begin circling the vicinity, hoping to find traces of the creatures’ movements. The survivors are likely the smaller creatures, which makes tracking them incredibly difficult. As unlikely and impossible as it might seem for bowtruckles and billywigs to do really severe damage, a quick glance at some of the Muggles revealed a frighteningly extreme adverse reaction to billywig stings; bowtruckles, already known to be dangerous when threatened, are more than capable of slicing through human skin.

“What’s that?” Tina calls finally. They dip down over a forest, where a large, moving cluster of something had caught her eye. The cluster turns out to contain their remaining creatures, and when they alight they first discover two orphaned mooncalves who emerge tentatively from the bushes and begin nudging up against them. The bowtruckles aren’t far behind, dangling off of their temporary home tree; Newt heaves a sigh of relief when he discovers a furious but alive Pickett. He’d finally weaned the bowtruckle of him in the past year, but they still spend plenty of time together in the case (and he’s still fairly accused of favoritism). Now, Newt apologizes for the moderate disaster and receives as severe a death glare as can be given by a half-foot tall living tree branch.

“Can we take some?” Tina asks desperately as more slink out from between the trees. Based on Newt’s head count, predator and prey are peacefully cohabiting the area, and everyone seems to be dazed and shaken. He can’t help but feel emotional over the fact that they all came together like a little family. “If we expanded something —”

“They cannot just be tossed into a bag,” Newt reminds her bitterly.

She falls silent, then gestures to the clearing. “Are these all of them?”

He takes inventory again, but it would seem that all of the remaining survivors really have traveled together. The grief hits him again, poignant and overwhelming, and involuntarily he reaches for Tina, who immediately puts her arms around him.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, holding him as he clutches around her waist and buries his face in her shoulder. “And I’m sorry I can’t say anything more helpful,” she adds miserably.

He shakes his head. “Thank you,” he mumbles.

“For what?”

 _For so many things._ She seems to think nothing of it, but he’s never really had a partner in crime like this, human or otherwise. It isn’t so much that he thinks she’ll leave or change her mind anymore. It’s simply that he still isn’t completely accustomed to looking next to him and always seeing someone there, as determined and ready to fight as he is. Instead, he just breathes, “I love you,” against her neck (he isn’t sure she even hears him) before pulling away, because as the world seems to continually remind them, they have work to do. The creatures need to be returned safely to their home.

Wordlessly, he and Tina stand beside one another and raise their wands. Together they manage to cast a shielding spell that safely corrals all of the remaining creatures. It isn’t impenetrable, and they must work quickly given that the creatures are still wanted, but with any luck Sophia and Theseus have found the case. After all, it's useless at this point now that the beasts have all escaped, and Grindelwald must have better things to worry about.

“We will be back,” Newt promises the orphaned mooncalf who has now attached herself to her magizoologist. She bleats. Heaving a sigh, he turns to Tina. “And now?”

“We have to find Soph and Theseus. See if they've found the case. We were supposed to meet up soon anyway.”

He nods. A sudden wave of fear washes over him as he remembers that he really can’t keep Sophia safe anymore, hard as he tries.

“They’re fine,” Tina says firmly.

“I know.” Except he doesn’t. If there’s anything he’s realized in the past few days, it’s that nothing is a guarantee. And he has a sneaking suspicion that it’s only just begun.

Judging by the sympathetic look on her face, Tina knows precisely what he’s thinking. “Please don’t go there,” she says gently, standing on tiptoes and kissing him on the forehead. “They’re fine.”

_We don’t know that._

“Come on,” the Auror says now, and holds out her hand. “We can’t freeze time, and it’s running out.”

She’s right. Newt shakes himself out of whatever fog has descended over him and together they leave the creatures behind.

* * *

Sophia and Theseus Apparate so many places in the next half hour that they end up having to stop and try to catch their breath and also avoid vomiting. “At least neither of us got Splinched,” Sophia points out, panting and a bit dizzy. She’s currently counting on some sort of acumen that they both must possess to pick up on anything suspicious. They’ve landed in nearly fifty locations; a quick scan of the area and searches of buildings nearby yield nothing. Now Theseus has brought them to a very small, empty Scottish town he once came through during the war.

“Theseus!” Sophia says sharply when she straightens up, feeling slightly less like she’s just been compressed and spun through a centrifuge. “That’s the case.” She points across the street to a tower of battered luggage. A homeless man is sleeping next to it.

Theseus frowns. “Why on earth would they leave it here?”

Sophia shrugs. “Maybe they like hiding things in plain sight and reckon we’re too stupid to think to look here. I mean, we kind of are, we just happened to Apparate in front of it because we were about to throw up all over some rich No-Maj’s estate. There was a super small chance we’d end up here.”

Theseus is hesitant. “Are you certain?”

Sophia nods. “It’s my baby. I can tell. C’mon.” She crosses to the other side and walks cautiously over to the pile.

The homeless man jerks awake just as Theseus tiptoes close enough to get a good look at the suitcase.

“Oi!” the man yells, waving a dirty gloved hand at the war hero, who jumps back. “Git away from ‘ere!”

“Apologies, sir,” Theseus says hastily.

“These are really nice suitcases,” Sophia says presently with the air of someone trying to talk to a belligerent young child. “Can I look?”

The homeless man narrows his eyes suspiciously. “I collect ‘em,” he explains, struggling into a sitting position against the building. “Like to put stuff in ‘em.”

“Have you, um — wheredja get that one?” Sophia asks, pointing to the suitcase.

He shrugs. “Someone gave it to me, said to keep it safe.”

“What did they look like?” Sophia slowly withdraws her wand and points it behind her back at the suitcase. Theseus sees her whisper, _“Revelio.”_ Nothing happens to the case.

“The person what gave me the suitcase?” the homeless man asks. “Blond lady.”

 _Yellow hair,_ Sophia mouths at Theseus, quoting what Daisy had told them. “And she said to look after it?”

“Knows I like luggage. ‘S all I got, after the war, y’know. I put stuff in ‘em,” he repeats.

“You have so many there,” Sophia points out. “Could we borrow just one? Like maybe... this one?” She grabs the handle of it and they both tense, clutching their wands, but luckily nothing happens. Theseus heaves a sigh of relief.

“No!” the homeless man blusters angrily, staggering to his feet and trying to take a swing at Sophia, who ducks. Theseus instinctively moves to grab the fellow, but refrains when the man backs off.

“We’ll take good care of it too,” Sophia pledges earnestly. “We’ll put stuff in it and everything.” She reaches for the suitcase again; the homeless man’s hand clamps down on her wrist and Theseus, who’s trying to be less reactive when it comes to Sophia in less-than-ideal situations, clenches his jaw. Then again, it’s a spunky young woman against a mentally unstable, possibly drunk homeless man: this she can probably handle.

“Woman told me to take care of it, make sure nobody came an’ took it. Said that prolly wouldn’t ‘appen, but guess it has.” He frowns and relinquishes Sophia. This time he’s staring at Theseus with unfocused eyes. “You.”

“Hmm?”

“You got ginger hair — she said a fella with ginger hair might come ‘round lookin’ for this case.”

“There are a great number of men with ginger hair,” Theseus says a lot more calmly than he feels.

“We just want to borrow the case,” Sophia tries again, but the man has an iron-fisted grip on the case now. “Look, you got so many nice ones here!”

“No, no,” he says, retreating, “she told me what to do if I saw you, she gave me this” — he brandishes a Galleon in his other hand — “to press —”

“It’s fake,” Theseus states the obvious.

“Yeah, that ain’t any money I seen,” the homeless man acknowledges, “but she said I might git some money... some more cases... I ain’t crazy...”

“Actually,” Sophia says, “you are.” With that — Theseus did _not_ approve of this plan, but he isn’t going to complain — she pulls back and punches the man, hard, in his stomach. He stumbles, yowling, and his grip on both items loosens. Sophia grabs the suitcase, Theseus dips down and gets the Galleon, and with a crack they’re gone.

* * *

“We got it,” Sophia says breathlessly after they land back in the guest house. She wrinkles up her nose. “I feel kinda bad about that guy, but he was being really annoying... I probably shouldn’t have Disapparated in front of a No-Maj, but he’ll probably think it was all a nightmare in the morning. Which it is, anyway.”

“You do have quite the arm,” Theseus commends.

“Yeah, so you and Newt can calm down.” Then she tosses the case down on the ground and flips open the lid.

“No — what are you doing?” Theseus asks in alarm.

“I gotta check to make sure it’s the right one. You guard it.”

“No,” he says firmly, “I am _not_ letting you do that.”

“Well, you can’t really leave me up here alone,” Sophia counters. “If someone got in to take the suitcase, they could come back again, couldn’t they? Especially if they find out we stole it back?”

Theseus falters. However, he knows that they must verify before tracking down any of the creatures, and so he concedes. “One check, and you come back up.”

She winks at him. “You got it.”

His heart pounds as she descends the steps: at this point, he’s prepared to face danger at any junction. He counts, _1... 2... 3... 4... 5..._

It takes 15 seconds before Sophia’s head blessedly pops up, grinning. “It’s all good,” she says happily, clambering out and shutting the case. “We gotta get Newt and Tina.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I have no idea how many readers I have (you can follow me on tumblr too @academla if you feel like it), but I appreciate anyone who’s been commenting! I’m still not checking comments because it’s a timesuck and I’m still over sensitive and easily annoyed/hurt, but Fen sometimes tells me if I have a nice comment. Definitely please comment though because I’ll read ‘em all eventually.
> 
> Out of sheer boredom, I filmed a sort of “tour” of my TWMLLO Google Drive folder so y’all can see how I organize everything, but then it got long. I made sure it’s spoiler free (so I redid it like... 20 times). No idea if anyone will find it interesting but I wanted to show you a behind the scenes look at how your crazy author organizes the TWMLLO universe.
> 
> [Here’s the link!](https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B1UcW4h5byutU0lpN1FKNDhLWUE/view?usp=sharing)
> 
> ETA: It's not working on desktop, but it works on mobile?
> 
> TL;DR - Sopheus find a booby-trapped version of the suitcase at the speakeasy in Edinburgh, get pursued by Grindelwald's followers, go back to Scamander Island, brainstorm, end up Apparating like everywhere they've ever been, and get the suitcase back from a homeless dude who the suitcase thief gave the suitcase to, figuring nobody would ever look in this random town. Oh, and Newtina find the creatures and cast a protective spell/barrier around them.


	81. I'll tell you folks, there ain't no change in me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the creatures are home, Newt and Tina check on Scamander Island, and Sophia has an epiphany.
> 
> “Of course, sorry,” Tina says, cringing.
> 
> “Sorry, Mum,” Newt echoes contritely.
> 
> “It’s no worry, dears,” she reassures them, patting both on the shoulders. “We will be perfectly safe here.”
> 
> Stupidly, they believe her.
> 
> Chapter title from “Crazy Blues” by Perry Bradford (1920)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two updates in two days, what is this madness?
> 
> Fen told me I got two nice comments on chapter 80, so thank you to whichever readers left those!
> 
> I've been considering writing some original works featuring Sophia in an AU, as well as other OCs. A few people have told me they would read original fiction from me, so that was very nice to hear :)
> 
> Tl;dr at the end in case people skip past dialogue. Also, the revelation scene with Sophia and Theseus has been written forEVER, and I thought I would never get to post it!
> 
> *Totally unedited as of now. I've just been lazy about editing. So forgive any errors.

It's already beginning to get light out by the time the quartet reconvenes. Suitcase in hand, Newt and Tina Apparate Sophia and Theseus back to where they’d placed the magical barrier. Some of the beasts have dozed off; others are chasing each other. Smaller ones hover in the air, by streams, in trees. All is remarkably peaceful, as though the events of just hours previous never happened.

The creatures go surprisingly willingly into the case, most of them exhausted rather than wound up. After lifting the barrier, the foursome Apparate to another location, where they pitch the enchanted tent.

Once safely inside, Newt and Sophia spend a precious ten minutes doing their best to comfort the more agitated creatures and making sure everyone is mostly intact. They set a few broken limbs and patch up cuts, but all things considered the beasts are in relatively good shape.

Both magizoologists have avoided thinking about the fatalities from earlier. They still will not discuss it, because there’s more work to be done, but before going back up Newt reaches wordlessly for Sophia, wrapping his arms around her tightly, and kisses her on the head. She clings onto him too, squeezes her eyes shut, and thinks that truth be told she really wouldn’t know what to do without her stupid big brother. For a long moment they mourn in silence.

“Love you,” Sophia says thickly when he finally lets go.

He sniffles and nods. “Love you too.”

“Hey,” she says, punching him lightly on the arm. “You look ugly when you cry.”

He glares, but a loving brotherly glare. “Rest assured, you look no better,” he replies as they head up the stairs.

“I’m not, I’m a beautiful crier,” Sophia insists. “It’s a rare skill, but I got it.”

They pop up in the tent; Theseus and Tina immediately join them, Tina graciously helping an admittedly shaky Newt and Theseus caught off guard when Sophia actually reaches for his hand to drag herself up. There’s a fire now — it seems that they're never _really_ together without a fire — and the kettle is boiling.

“Right, Theseus?” Sophia continues, unable as always to let a single matter go.

“Hm?”

“I’m beautiful,” she states.

“Very,” he replies mildly, patting her on the head.

“Ha!” She points to Newt. “I dunno how _you_ got an _Auror_ to date you without some sort of love potion... then again, maybe you didn’t, and Teen’s just been hypnotized to _think_ you’re attractive.”

Newt turns to his girlfriend in outrage, but before he can open his mouth to protest she kisses him soundly — so much so that Sophia makes pointed gagging noises — and then pulls away with her arms around his neck.

“I think you’re perfectly attractive,” she informs him, eyes glinting with the sort of _oh shit we might die any moment and I love you very much_ emotion that Sophia would probably be feeling if she actually had someone to feel that way about.

“That was DISGUSTING,” she poses the obligatory complaint.

“Let them have their moment,” Theseus advises her soberly. “Everything is not settled yet.”

Because it isn't, Sophia keeps her mouth shut.

* * *

After sending owls to update Seraphina and Elsie, they decide to try and get some sleep, if only a few hours’ worth. There’s a double bed and a set of bunks inside the enchanted tent; Theseus's gallant offer to kip on the overstuffed couch is rejected by Sophia, who asks why he’s being weird about it when it’s not like they’re sleeping together. He doesn't have a good answer.

Everyone is quiet as they ready themselves for bed, lost in their own tangled, racing thoughts. This is far from over; the creatures may be put to bed, but the issue of the attack is not. They have yet to figure out exactly why this has been happening.

“It’s gotta be dark magic,” Sophia muses from the partition in the back, where she’s getting changed into pajamas. She hurls her flapper dress over the top; it lands on Newt’s head, causing him to jump violently.

“Now _that_ was unnecessary!” he says indignantly as he tries to free himself of the garment.

“Anyway,” Sophia continues, emerging in a pajama suit, “obviously someone or something’s possessing them. I just don’t know who. Could be anyone in his army, right?”

“Or multiple people,” Theseus points out grimly.

Sophia sighs. “Yeah.” They all fall silent, staring a bit gloomily at the fire. “Well hey,” she finally speaks up again, “let’s try to get some sleep, and everything will be better in the morning. Which, I mean, it technically is already. But.” She scampers up onto the top bunk to demonstrate.

Newt chucks Sophia’s discarded dress back at her. She tosses it carelessly onto the ground. “Marvelous idea,” he says a bit sarcastically. Tina, long-suffering as always, waves her wand so that the dress folds itself semi-neatly inside Sophia’s bag.

“Oh, shut up,” Sophia snaps, glaring, but luckily her brother turns his back on her, having much better things to pay attention to (Tina) before a fight can break out.

“I love you,” Tina murmurs when Newt slips under the covers next to her.

“I love you too,” he returns, wrapping his arms around her. Theseus, standing, reaches up to the top bunk and covers Sophia’s mouth with his hand before she can react. She still gags, just to be annoying. (Her sound effects are ignored by the couple.)

“The world could always use a bit more love,” Theseus says firmly.

“You’re too tall,” Sophia retorts, referring to the fact that he’s level with her where she’s now sat up in the top bunk.

Newt and Tina’s light turns off. Before following suit, Theseus leans forward and kisses a surprised Sophia on the cheek. “Goodnight, Sophie,” he says softly. He presses his lips together and nods a little awkwardly — _that_ happened, no turning back now — then waves his wand so the lights near their bed go out as well.

“Goodnight, Theseus,” he hears Sophia say quietly. Smiling, he falls asleep.

* * *

_Week 10, Tuesday morning_

They wake up four hours later, looking about as bedraggled and worn down as before but at least marginally more awake. Theseus is a seasoned professional when it comes to operating on little to no sleep in emergency situations; Sophia and Tina, however, function significantly less well. But at least coffee exists for Tina, and she’s proven a remarkable ability to switch between Domestic Tina and Auror Tina, so she hasn’t been too grumpy. Sophia, on the other hand, is starting to get snappish and very prickly, and they didn’t bring much in the way of food with them.

After she and Newt have yet _another_ argument, they all sit around the fire, sipping hot beverages (her fourth cup of coffee for Tina; hot cocoa for Sophia, who is not allowed to have more than one mug because of sugar; and tea for Newt and Theseus, who apparently can do whatever the hell they want). As always, they try to strategize and come up dry.

“Okay, they’re targeting you guys,” Sophia says, pointing at Newt and Tina. “Teen, we know why. Newt... I dunno, but I’m guessing Grindelwald is mad because he wanted the creatures to himself. And I gather you lot didn’t exactly part best of friends.”

“We should check at home first,” Tina says, pale and wan but no less determined. That’s about everyone’s state, honestly. “See how everyone’s doing.”

“I don’t know as New York —” Newt begins hesitantly, but she shakes her head.

“Not New York. Scamander Island.”

“Cute, we get it, you guys don’t have to _snog,”_ Sophia says loudly at the look on Newt’s face. “Oi!” She chucks a crumpled napkin at him when he gazes at his girlfriend too long. All four of them call the island home at this point anyway; it’s not exactly _news._ “Focus!”

“Anyway,” Theseus intervenes, because the world has had quite enough of Sophia and Newt’s bickering, “Tina is right. We should see how Mum is doing.”

“Newt and Soph, you can stay with the creatures then,” Tina decides. “Theseus and I can go see Mom and the islanders.”

“I would rather stay with — I would rather stay,” Theseus says quickly.

“Okay, then I’ll go with Teen,” Sophia offers.

Theseus shakes his head vehemently. “No, perhaps Newt —”

“Sorry, are you saying that two women aren’t _capable?”_ Sophia challenges him.

“No!” he says, aghast. “No, I — I want to be with — I want to help.”

Sophia crosses her arms. “Then you go with Tina.”

Theseus opens and closes his mouth.

“Well,” Sophia proclaims. “Let’s get a wiggle on, then.”

“Actually,” Newt says as they stand up. “Tina, I think I’d like to come with you, if I may —”

“Very well,” Theseus approves before Tina can respond (though it’s always an implicit yes from her), and claps his brother on the back. “Sophie and I will keep working.”

“Yeah, but me and Newt have to check on the creatures,” Sophia points out.

“I can help,” Theseus offers immediately.

Sophia gawks at him. “Um... no, you probably can’t.”

Tina groans. “Fine, Newt, you and Sophia deal with the creatures, _then_ we’ll go.” She gives Newt a little shove towards his assistant. “Good grief.”

“It’s not my fault this war hero here’s gotten separation anxiety,” Sophia retorts.

Theseus bristles. “Forgive me for _caring_ about your well being.”

“You don’t need to care about me!” Sophia nearly yells, oddly defensive. Tina raises her eyebrows but says nothing.

Theseus _glowers_ at her, which is surprising to say the least; until this point, the two of them have never really quarrelled. The stress of the current situation can’t be helping matters much. “Just make it fast,” he snaps.

Sophia seizes Newt none too gently by the elbow and frog-marches him to the suitcase in the corner of the tent, where she aggressively flips the top open and descends.

“You okay?” Tina asks carefully as she goes to the sink and washes off their mugs.

“Yes,” Theseus lies. He seems stressed, _really_ stressed, and his jawline is razor sharp and tense.

“We all care about her, you know,” Tina says softly. She dries the cups and puts them back in the cabinet.

“We all care about each other,” Theseus points out.

“That too. But she’ll be fine.” Tina pauses. “I don't think it’s personal. Her snapping at you like that. If it helps at all.”

He looks incredibly weary when he sits down at the table with her. “What do you reckon, then?”

Tina shrugs. “I think Soph has a thing about her independence. She’s so used to being alone and self-reliant that she doesn’t like other people worrying about her too much. She used to be like Newt, and Newt’s come to accept having friends and people who love him, but Soph hasn’t yet. So she gets upset when someone emphasizes that they care about her. That’s all.”

It doesn’t make Theseus feel any better about being the target, but he supposes he can understand that. A bit. The thing is, _he’s_ grown up surrounded by others, and, at the risk of sounding pretentious, tends to be well-liked wherever he goes. The concept of _not_ wanting to be surrounded by people — not actively wanting to be loved and supported — is unfathomable. Doesn’t everyone love to be loved? It would seem that for Sophia, that kind of change is just too intimidating.

“Maybe she doesn’t wanna let anyone down,” Tina adds thoughtfully.

“She would never let me — us — down,” and it’s a fact.

“Take it from me, it’s not always easy to accept reality,” the Auror replies ruefully. “Cut her some slack.”

It’s difficult, but he does.

* * *

Although the island is a disorganized mess, the council has done a relatively good job keeping everything generally intact. They have established already that there is no threat posted to the island as of now, and with any luck there never will be, and that the worst thing islanders could do is to leave it. Yes, Newt’s creatures were involved, but he got them back. No, it’s still unknown why they attacked, so yes, technically there could still be more attacks of that sort. No, nobody knows for certain that Grindelwald is involved, but there’s really no doubt. Yes, Newt and Tina have not had a good track record with dark wizards. No, their presence does not jeopardize the island.

This last one is the most difficult for islanders to believe, and as a result the second Newt and Tina arrive at the manor, they are accosted by angry, protective parents who apparently blame him now for their children’s lives being endangered. Ignotus, much to everyone’s surprise, comes to Newt’s rescue and reminds everyone none too kindly about what they’d already discussed. Muttering, they recede, leaving a flustered Newt and concerned Tina behind.

“I’ll go fetch Elsie,” Ignotus says shortly, gesturing for them to stay in the foyer.

Elsie bustles in a moment later and embraces both. “I’ve never been so relieved,” she cries. “Oh, darling, but the other creatures...”

“Yes,” Tina says quickly, because they do need to do rather a lot in a very limited period of time, “but at least we recovered the rest of them. We wanted to make sure everything’s okay here.”

“I suppose it depends on you definition of ‘okay’ nowadays, but we have gotten things mostly under control,” Elsie replies. “Where are the others?”

“Sophia and Theseus? We’re camping somewhere out of the way right now. We still don’t have any leads but right now we think there’s dark magic involved, so we’ve got Soph looking through a bunch of old books.” Tina presses her lips together. “We don’t know what else to do.”

Elsie looks at them bleakly. “Have you spoken with the President?”

“Not recently. We let her know that we found the creatures.”

“Do you think she will ask you to fight?”

“I would, she knows I would, but I just went up against the Ministry of Magic and called the Undersecretary a bitch, so... and Lucille’s been MIA so we have no idea when and where she might show up again. There haven’t been any recent attacks anyway, since the whole thing with the creatures. I’m worried they’re planning more, though.”

“Who, Grindelwald’s army?”

“Yeah. The problem is, you don’t ever know where they’re going to be next.”

Newt sidles closer to his girlfriend until their arms are touching. He’s gotten oddly quiet and contemplative and just a bit tentative in the past few hours. Exchanging a bemused look with his mom, Tina reaches over and takes his hand.

“Were you trying to do that?” she asks in amusement. Then, at the look on his face, “You okay?”

“I will fight with you,” he says simply.

“What?”

“I... if you are sent anywhere. Dangerous or — or not. If you must fight.”

_[“As you wish,” Newt answers.](archiveofourown.org/works/9240317/chapters/21004574) “I’m here, Tina.” He pauses. “Where else would I be?” _

_“Anywhere but with me,” she says in a small voice, staring down at the pavement._

_Newt gapes. “Anywhere but with you? Tina, if there is a place without you, I don't want to go there.”_

It was so long ago now — a lifetime ago. The amount of things they have been through since that conversation, and that they likely have left to go through... and he hasn’t left. How could she even think he would? How could he think _she_ would? Tina shakes her head, suddenly overwhelmed.

“Thank you,” is all she can think to say.

It isn’t as though Newt’s profession was terribly romantic or unprecedented. But his return to the eccentric magizoologist she first fell in love with, the slightly hesitant, awkward, uncertain Newt who had infinitely more to him than met the eye, touches something deep within her. He’s so earnest now as he promises that he will be there for her, in every single way.

“You didn’t leave,” Tina finds herself murmuring. It’s a realization she comes to again and again, and Sophia would surely slap her in the face for the fact that she would need to have that realization more than once, but it is what it is.

Elsie opens her mouth to say something, then stops, because this isn’t exactly a conversation for her to be involved in.

“I’m sorry, are you implying that I am a man who is not good for his word?” Newt smiles, a gentle, loving smile that makes Tina’s stomach flip-flop.

“I do hate to interrupt,” Elsie cuts in apologetically, “but I might suggest that you go back to Sophia and Theseus now, as I suspect some assistance would be very much appreciated.”

“Of course, sorry,” Tina says, cringing; if she and Newt don’t stop getting caught up in these stupid romantic moments when the world is on the brink of a crisis, they’re going to miss something. Maybe they just shouldn’t look at each other if — when — the time comes to hit the battlefield.

“Sorry, Mum,” Newt echoes contritely.

“It’s no worry, dears,” she reassures them, patting both on the shoulders. “You focus on your quest, now. We will be perfectly safe here.”

Stupidly, they believe her.

* * *

Meanwhile, Sophia and Theseus are working hard (or hardly working, in _someone’s_ case): Theseus is whittling a piece of wood with his wand and Sophia is hanging upside down on the bottom bunk of their bunk beds, still struggling through a massive stack of books. So far she hasn’t learned anything particularly enlightening, except that it is in fact possible to fall asleep and nearly topple into the fire out of boredom (hence the necessary location change).

“Wait,” she says suddenly. Theseus looks up. “Newt fed Fairclaw the day she attacked him... and I fed Dougal the day he attacked me. Theseus!”

She pulls herself up (nearly passing out in the process), leans over, grabs her bag, and starts rifling through its contents.

“Here,” she says, panting with the exertion, and throws a book onto the bed. “I really need to organize that thing. Anyway, it’s my potions book, see?”

She thumbs through it, lips moving as she reads, and _yes,_ there it is.

“Hate Potion,” she says triumphantly. “They say that’s what’s in Grumbles, but in smaller doses. It makes the person who drinks it only see the worst qualities in whoever gives it to them.”

Theseus joins her and stares down at the recipe.

Sophia gazes up at him, excited and terrified and confused all at once. “Theseus, I think someone has been poisoning their food.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Per advice from some tumblr users, I added a note about this fic potentially being canon-divergent at various junctures, in case any eagle-eyed reader noticed that change and was going to ask. Don't worry about it; just respect what it says and what I've posted about on tumblr and we're golden <3
> 
> We're actually finally getting to more of the parts that are already partially written, so depending on how this week goes, you should definitely have 1-2 more chapters by next weekend!!
> 
> Tl;dr - the creatures return, Sophia and Newt keep bickering, people on the island are still worked up but under control, and Sophia realizes that the creatures have been poisoned.
> 
> (Honestly I've wasted so much time recently being stressed and insecure about this fic I'm just going to say fuck it and post chapters, if only for the sake of finishing what I've started, and because I just love writing... so, like, whatever.)


	82. I should fret if the worst looks like the best

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Seraphina is still done, Ewan is still... Ewan, Sophia and Theseus are going to steal, and Lucille is aiding and abetting the enemy.
> 
> “The attacks. They were in an agricultural village, where the Muggles all grew their own food,” Theseus realizes. 
> 
> “If someone poisoned their water or, I dunno, I never farmed... their seed, or soil, and a creature ate it, then they would turn on the Muggles, ‘cause they all played a part in making the food — is that what happened?" says Sophia.
> 
> (Sorry Newt and Tina don't have much of a role in this chapter other than their trip to MACUSA.)
> 
> Chapter title from "April Showers" by B.G. DeSylva (1921)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back as promised with chapter 82! I realized belatedly that I really was super convinced that I'd posted this chapter, so I accidentally posted a sneak peek on Tumblr. Oops. 
> 
> I’m getting to the point of having written and rewritten and stared at this dumb fic so much that I’m starting to hate it (any creative people out there know how like if you spend too much time staring at your work you get super sick and critical of it) but I’m determined to finish! As such, I've kind of given up on editing, so I apologize for anything subpar (I had to apologize to my English teacher for my subpar essay the other day too... my writing has just been something else lately).

Frenzied, Sophia throws a journal and pencil at Theseus. “Write down the potions that could possibly have been involved in the poisoning,” she tells him urgently. “We can look at the ingredients, try to figure out what the recipe could’ve been...”

“Yes, of course,” he says quickly, flipping to a fresh page. “Go.”

“Okay, Confusing Concoction… causes the drinker to become confused, distracted, and sick. Befuddlement Draught — causes the drinker to become belligerent and reckless.” She’s disappointed, frantically thumbing through the book, to realize that there are very few textbook potions that could have been involved. “Well, I guess that’s it.”

Theseus puts down the pencil and peers over her shoulder. “Go back to the Hate Potion,” he says.

She points at the recipe. “Hate Potion... this must be the base. Didn’t he say she acted like she hated him? Like she was genuinely angry, not just spooked? With enough ingredients, and something to make it, like, _specific_ to nonhumans...”

“The attacks. They were in an agricultural village, where the Muggles all grew their own food,” Theseus realizes.

“If someone poisoned their water or, I dunno, I never farmed... their seed, or soil, and a creature ate it, then they would turn on the Muggles, ‘cause they all played a part in making the food — is that what happened? Are there streams where they were found or something?

“‘Cause they could've all just been _exposed_ to it, couldn't they, what if it's airborne — like the Obliviation rain thing last year — there are some talented potion makers out there — potions was _not_ my strong suit, I caused way too many fires, but I know some people are _really good_.

“And they must have some sort of — of a timer where they calm down or the effects wear off once they attack... that means that they'll be calm once wizards or Grindelwald’s army or whoever comes to round them up.” She seizes Theseus by the shoulder and shakes urgently.

“Theseus, this _has_ to be it! And this could just be the _start,_ because if this worked on such a big scale... it's kinda brilliant, it's so much easier than Grindelwald and his army having to actually go places... they could use other creatures too, couldn't they? I don't think it ends here.”

Theseus’s head is spinning. “Then what do you propose we do from here?”

“This is crazy,” Sophia says. “But I’ve gotten zero sleep and I think I’m slowly losing my sanity.”

“Nothing is crazy now,” Theseus says soberly. “What?”

She winces. “I don't know... could we make an antidote?”

“How? Do what?”

“I don't know!” She flings her arms into the air. “It would be so complicated, we would have to figure out what's been poisoned — food or water or whatever — and see if we can counteract it just by imbibing it with the antidote, ‘cause I don't know how we could get anything _into_ creatures once they're poisoned...

“But it's proven to be short acting too, for what that's worth, ‘cause Fairclaw and Dougal got over it... unless the effects stop after they've attacked, like I said — we’ll have to figure that out because I don't know. Oh, that would be _so_ tricky to try to fix — this is balled up!” she cries.

“It will be alright,” Theseus says firmly. He hesitates. “We must prioritize.”

“Mom’s good with potions,” Sophia remembers. “Theseus — what if we asked her? Could she figure it out?”

“I think she may be a bit preoccupied at the moment.”

“So what d’you think then?” Sophia asks anxiously.

Theseus considers, then makes an executive decision. “We cannot take the time to find an antidote now. The important thing is to prevent distribution of this poison. If that village was just a warm-up, so to speak, they could very well plan to target a larger area, particularly if they can refine it. And although I know next to nothing in the ways of potion making, I suspect that it will not take long before they discover an easier way of exploiting any beasts or non-magical animals they can find.”

Sophia taps her chin thoughtfully. “You mean without needing to poison their food? There must be something about it, something that makes it so they have to use it in food and can't just spray it somewhere — but I'll bet Fairclaw and Dougal were experiments, they wanted to see if it would work before they used it on all the creatures. Maybe it’s just a prototype.”

Theseus nods. “Either way, we need to focus on prevention. They must have more.”

“It’s so complicated, I don’t understand — but that isn’t important now.” Sophia shakes her head. “Okay,” she says resolutely, reaching for her bag.

She withdraws a tin of Bash Bish Berries, which she realizes Theseus has never had, and briefly wishes she’d brought Marblehead Mints instead. Newt’s head turning into a sailboat had been _delightful._

“These are Bash Bish Berries,” she says, “and they jump around a lot, like me, that’s why I used to be _called_ Bash Bish... so be careful. And they have a LOT of sugar in them.”

“Then perhaps you should not be —”

“Newt’s not here, it’s fine,” Sophia says airily, completely disregarding any authority Theseus might have over her. “Now,” she says, plucking a handful of berries and pummeling him in the face with them, “let’s get thinking.”

* * *

_Tuesday afternoon_

Newt and Tina receive a summons from MACUSA just as they’re preparing to leave the island. Seraphina wants to discuss what the hell is going on, and frankly they all place much more trust in her jurisdiction than Hector and Emmeline’s. After shaking off a hysterical Poppy, they return to the tent to inform Theseus and Sophia, who are nearly bursting with the excitement of their findings.

Sophia, who has clearly had a few too many Bash Bish Berries, is practically bouncing off the tent walls by the time she’s done explaining everything, and her voice has gone so shrill it’s barely audible. Theseus steps in at that point while Tina tries to calm Sophia down. Newt feels compelled to search her bag and dispose of a few stale boxes of Grumbles & Chuckles, and politely suggests that they lock up the rest of the hot cocoa.

“It makes sense,” Tina says once the excitement has died down.

“I know it does,” Sophia replies disparagingly, still a bit flushed from stress and exhilaration and far too much sugar. “So we gotta work on that. Finding the poison.”

“We will figure it out,” Theseus pledges. “But you two should waste no time meeting with the President. Please relay my good wishes to Seraphina.”

“Love you,” Sophia proclaims, squeezing her short arms around the couple. “We’ll figure something out, okay?”

“Go on then,” Theseus says gruffly, clapping Newt on the back when the magizoologist hesitates, looking briefly distraught.

“Hey,” Tina says, taking her boyfriend’s hand. “It’ll be okay.”

“You betcha!” Sophia pipes up, hopping onto tiptoes and pecking Newt on the cheek. He gives her a one-armed hug in return, and then he and Tina Disapparate.

Theseus turns to Sophia as soon as they’re gone. “Have we a plan?”

“Nope!” she says brightly.

“Tremendous,” he comments.

“Yep,” she replies, beaming at him. “But I’m sure it’ll come to us, right?”

Theseus isn’t convinced, and who could blame him?

* * *

Newt and Tina are greeted by a warm, extraordinarily stressed out President. If the bags under her eyes and the number of half-drunk coffee mugs on her desk are any indication, she’s slept no more than they have in the past 48 hours.

Shockingly, she hugs both, sounding a little tearful as she thanks them for coming. Ewan walks in before they can start talking; resting his elbow on Seraphina’s shoulder and leaning casually on one leg, he flashes them all a grin and asks what’s been going on.

“Off, Ewan,” Seraphina says firmly. When her twin brother only smirks, she swiftly moves her shoulder so that he nearly topples over.

“No need to be so rude, Sera,” he objects good-naturedly.

“Sound familiar?” Tina says wryly to Newt.

Rather than smile, Newt says quietly, “I hope Sophie’s okay.”

“She’s with Theseus. She’ll be fine,” Tina says bracingly. She’s starting to question exactly what the war hero’s intentions are, but he would obviously go to the ends of the earth to keep that obstinate girl safe.

Right on cue, Seraphina asks after the others. They brief her quickly on Sophia and Theseus’s findings. “Excellent,” she approves. “I trust them. Theseus is a good man.”

“I wanna meet this guy,” Ewan puts in. “Sounds cool — not as cool as _me,_ of course, but what can ya do. _I’m_ the pinnacle of chivalry and manliness.” He gives an elaborate flourish and tips his suitably battered skimmer hat, which has a bright azure-and-white petersham ribbon around the base.

Seraphina sighs. “I keep telling him that now is not the time to make light of things —”

“And I keep telling _her,_ a little humor never killed anyone. Hey, we all might die, but what’s the point complaining about it?”

“Sure,” Seraphina acknowledges weakly.

Ewan pats her condescendingly on the head; Tina nudges Newt in amusement. “That’s the spirit! Hey,” he adds, sliding onto his sister’s desk, “I got to chatting with that No-Maj fella, the one marrying the Legilimens, when he came by here last and y’know what he said?”

Seraphina looks as though she’s just barely keeping it together.

“Worrying means you suffer twice.” Ewan nods sagely.

Newt’s eyes widen. “Sorry,” he puts in, poking his head between the President (who’s glaring) and her brother (who’s grinning), “I — it — it shouldn’t matter, but _I_ taught him that.” Seraphina is violently underwhelmed. “I’m only saying.”

Ewan shrugs. “Eh, doesn’t matter now. Point still stands.”

“Actually, Mom said that,” Tina points out to Newt.

He looks up, surprised, and she realizes this is the first time he’s heard her refer to Elsie as such. “You call her...?”

Incredibly embarrassed now (it still feels odd and inappropriate and overstepping her bounds), she ducks her head. “Um... yeah. When we went to brunch, she told me to, but if that makes you feel weird —”

Unexpectedly and inappropriately in the _office of the President,_ Newt hugs her tightly, then kisses her — on the lips! And none too quickly! — before apparently recalling where they are and exactly how dire the situation is.

“So sorry, Madam President,” he apologizes humbly, nearly bowing in an attempt to regain his composure.

Seraphina can only arch an eyebrow wearily. “I daresay I have seen _much_ poorer conduct from the two of you.”

“It’s almost enough to make me wanna settle down too,” Ewan pipes up, winking at Newt.

“Oh, we aren’t —” Tina begins.

“At any rate,” the President interrupts, having had enough of _this_ in her office to last a lifetime, “we have to strategize. Theseus and Sophia’s efforts must not be in vain.”

“We don’t have time to make an antidote,” Tina says, brow furrowed. “Wild animals aren’t exactly in short supply.”

“Then we must find the rest of the potion itself,” Seraphina replies grimly. “There is more, I presume. You still have creatures which I am sure they intended to use again, and the ones in your case are not the only ones in existence. For all we know, they have ties with illegal traffickers worldwide.”

“We have no idea where the poison is,” Tina admits miserably.

For a minute, nobody says anything. Ewan’s face has fallen into a somber expression, which seems completely out of character for him, while Seraphina has steepled her fingers together and is gazing unseeingly into the fish tank which has replaced her fireplace for the spring.

“Madam President, do you know where Grindelwald might be?” Newt asks after some thought.

Seraphina is visibly surprised. “Surely you do not intend to track him down.”

He shakes his head. “No, but I was thinking... perhaps we could try to find the potion and destroy it before — before it k-kills another creature.” His voice goes quite unsteady at the end, and Tina’s heart breaks all over again. They’ve barely had time to actually process the tragedy; everybody has gone into triage mode, staunchly holding emotions at bay, since the attack. She would hug him, except they’re in the President’s office, and things are very serious right now. Instead, she reaches over and squeezes his arm briefly.

“And who would go on this foolish and dangerous quest?” Seraphina inquires. “We need Tina as an Auror” — she turns to Newt — “and although it is, as always, your affair, I would imagine you would like to keep an eye on your suitcase given recent events? Not to mention Theseus, whose skills are not to be underappreciated in all of this.”

There is very little doubt in Tina’s mind that Sophia would happily embark on this sort of mission, and Theseus would of course go along, but she also knows how careful Newt has been with his assistant this entire time. Then again, the truth is that Sophia is really in no less danger than the rest of them. “Soph and Theseus would,” Tina decides.

“Theseus...” Seraphina says, clearly hesitant to let someone so valuable go on a separate quest.

“Sophia needs someone to look out for her,” Tina points out. “If anything big happens, I’m sure they’ll come back and join us.”

“Is Mrs. or Mr. Ollerton here?” Newt asks presently.

Seraphina shakes her head ruefully. “Not at the moment. I am afraid the entire Congress has been in a bit of a tizzy.”

“I...” He appeals to his girlfriend. “Tina?”

“Aw, that’s cute, the way he asks you for advice,” Ewan comments, gesturing between the two of them. “You sure you’re not —”

Seraphina, who has finally had enough, whacks him on the shoulder. Newt and Tina both start: the world has _really_ gone awry when the President starts whacking people’s shoulders in her office during a global crisis.

“Sera!” yelps Ewan, sounding uncannily like Newt.

 _“Anyway,”_ she says loudly, regaining her composure and domineering mien. “I cannot insist or advise them to do this. We do have an idea of his location; we have been tracking his movements. But we are more focused on locating his followers, of which there have proven to be an alarming number. ” She pauses. “There is impending war. At this point, it is only a question of who’s going to throw the first punch.”

“You’d do a pretty good job of that,” Ewan quips, rubbing his shoulder and wincing.

“Do not think I became President without being more than capable of defeating my adversaries through brute force alone,” Seraphina says rather loftily. She pauses. “I might add that I got a great deal of practice growing up with a twin brother.” Tina suppresses a grin, imagining a child Seraphina getting in neighborhood fist fights.

“That’s me,” Ewan says airily, and sticks his hands in his pocket as he leans back and accidentally knocks over an inkwell. “Oops.”

_“Ewan!”_

He looks sheepish, but his eyes twinkle and he winks when he sees Tina’s face; that man’s cheerfulness, though probably misguided, is very much appreciated. “So sorry, sis. Let me just... _Tergeo.”_

 _“At any rate,”_ Seraphina begins again, quite aggressively this time, “if we provide Sophia and Theseus the necessary information, do you think they might...?”

“They’d do it,” Tina says without hesitation. “It’s just the issue of whether or not Newt’s gonna throw a fit.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Newt confesses in an undertone to his girlfriend. “I — I can’t _think_ straight.” Tina recalls how desperate his cries were and how devastated he’d been when they took his suitcase at MACUSA last year. There’s no way he’s okay, and she’s sure that it takes everything he has to keep his mind off of the loss. At the time, all she could do was apologize from the bottom of her heart, but now...

Now they cannot grieve. She pulls herself together. “It’s fine,” she tells Newt gently; Seraphina nods in agreement. Ewan watches, arms crossed, with a soft expression on his face.

“You... could you?” he asks Tina suddenly.

“Could I what?”

“It’s only that I... I cannot in good conscience allow Soph to — but I... if the decision came from _you,_ perhaps...”

Tina loves him _so much_ right now. “Are you really asking me to take the blame because you’re scared her parents will yell at you?” she asks, fighting a grin and failing.

“They _are_ rather intimidating,” he mutters.

Tina sighs fondly and resists the urge to touch him. Not that Seraphina hasn’t seen it all by now, but it’s the principle of the thing. She _is,_ after all, technically a government employee, and a very important one at that.  “Fine. I’ll ask Soph and Theseus if they’ll look for the potion.”

“Thank you,” he says gratefully, nearly sagging onto the armchair behind him in relief. Then, after a pause, “I love you.”

Tina beams. It will never get old, hearing those words come out of his mouth. “I love you too, Newt.”

“I see you finally said it,” Seraphina observes dryly but with a hint of warmth. “How touching. Unfortunately, it would seem that opportunities for romantic interludes are somewhat thin on the ground at the moment.”

“Nice one,” Ewan says approvingly, clapping Newt on the back. The magizoologist blushes slightly; the President rolls her eyes heavenward.

“How would you like to go about this?” she queries once everyone has gone semi-professional again. “Contacting Sophia and Theseus.”

“Um... Patronus should be fine,” Tina decides. Newt concurs.

Seraphina raises her wand. “Then we have no time to waste.”

* * *

Sophia and Theseus have just begun exploring the dubious possibility of trying to _steal_ back the potion when a silvery panther appears in the tent.

“Oh, hey, it’s Seraphina!” Sophia says brightly, hopping to her feet and walking to the middle of the room. Theseus joins her, a bit cautiously.

The brief conversation that follows reinforces their tentative plan, except this time they have actual information, which Sophia finds very exciting given that it’s generally useful to know what you’re doing when running blindly into danger.

“Thanks, Seraphina,” she says buoyantly when the President has finished her message. She’s fairly certain that the panther rolls its eyes at her, but then it scampers away and dissipates. “So,” she says, rubbing her hands together, “we’re gonna figure this out, right?”

Theseus nods and motions to the notebook in which she’d been jotting down everything that MACUSA knows about Grindelwald’s motions. “We have a real plan?”

“Heck yeah,” she replies. “This is fun, right?”

He stares at her in disbelief. “F — Sophie, we could _die_ any minute!”

“Yeah, but ya know... worrying means you suffer twice.”

“Please do not quote my mother,” Theseus groans. “I love her dearly, but good lord, the number of times she has said that to me...”

“Okay, sorry. But it’s true. Better to be excited than scared, right?”

“I daresay it is not so easy for the normal population to be as cheerful as you are in the face of such grave situations.”

“Call me stupid then,” Sophia says with a shrug, “but we still got work to do.”

“You’re stupid,” Theseus can’t resist saying succinctly. Sophia makes a face at him; her hands are currently full of the notebook and stub of a pencil, however, so he goes unaccosted.

Grindelwald has been most recently tracked in Massachusetts of all places. Seraphina generously provided the coordinates of his last known sighting, where he is suspected to have some sort of a lair. Assuming that he orchestrated the entire potion situation, the remainder of the stockpile is most likely to be stashed there.

“I know where that is,” Sophia says in surprise once a map, enchanted by Theseus, shows them the location. “Serenity took me there once. Or near there, at least.” She jumps up. “C’mon, the clock’s ticking.”

“Let’s go,” Theseus agrees, and follows Sophia out of the tent.

* * *

“They are going to steal the rest of the potion,” Frida informs Lucille when she comes by to check on things. “I can take care of it.”

Lucille pauses. Her head pounds and her eyes smart and she doesn’t even know how to feel anymore. To be honest, this particular development seems more trouble than it’s worth. “Who are?”

“The little girl and the war hero.”

Lucille hasn’t thought of _them_ in a while, as focused on Tina as she’s been. She knows that the Ollerton girl is close to Newt, that she’s his assistant and practically part of the family, but it’s Theseus she seems most attached to. The two of them spend way too much time together for it to be platonic, if Frida’s scouting is to be believed.

Just like Newt and Tina. Lucille clenches her jaw at the thought of _that_ relationship. Yet another reminder of the all-consuming resentment and hatred and jealousy because _it isn’t fair._

She doesn’t mind the other two so much.

But time waits for no villain, and Frida needs a response. She’s always at her bidding, isn’t she. Lucille wonders why. It was an unpaid position to begin with, and since Lucille’s plans have changed and the murders she desired have been executed, Frida has no obligation to hang around like this. The only person Lucille really wants dead now is Tina and possibly Newt, and she’s more than happy to take matters into her own hands.

“Don’t bother,” Lucille finds herself saying.

Frida raises an eyebrow before her face goes expressionless again. “Very well,” she says simply.

Gellert has let Lucille wandless but free in his headquarters. He has protected everything in his lair, of course, with varying types of advanced magic — blood magic, Dark magic, just plain _brilliant_ magic... but that’s hardly surprising.

Frida leaves the lair now, having other businesses to tend to. Apparently Newt and Tina have gone to MACUSA, which does not bode well for anyone.

This is such a desolate place, Lucille feels as though Gellert is trying to shield her somehow, protect her, and isn’t sure how she feels about it. He knows by now that she has taken off with the memories, and it was he who exiled her instead. Had she been any other prisoner, no doubt she would be dead by now. Perhaps he does have a heart after all. Perhaps he has remorse.

Villains don’t _have_ remorse.

Wandering into the cavernous dining room, which is lined with ancient cabinets and shelves and dusty books, Lucille locates a glass cupboard. She can see a wooden box of potions through the transparent door and, peering in, recognizes the one that Brian had brewed for her. _Ferox Necare,_ he’d called it.

She bites her lip, debating. If she can get past the magic, her current plan (ill-advised as it may be) will work out. If she can’t, she’ll land herself behind bars again. Which she doesn’t mind, except she still has her memories of John and will _not_ let Gellert’s henchmen do what they did before.

The air ripples briefly as she carefully opens the cupboard and slides the box of potions out. Nobody arrives; no curse is activated.

Now, before she can second guess herself (which she should, she _really_ should), she places the box on the table. Her fingers close around the correct vial. There’s just enough left for the rest of the creatures, the ones who hadn’t been killed. Since they were recovered with the suitcase, a team should hunt down wild animals for another attack today. Time is running out until they send for the potion.

Brian has already been commissioned to make more, but with improvements. He informed Lucille yesterday that he thinks he may even be able to create something airborne. The trick is to brew the poison such that only nonhumans are privy to its effects. He’s something of a potions genius, that Brian, and they are lucky to have him on their side.

Lucille’s hands tremble slightly as she withdraws the potion and leaves it out on the table, in plain view. She does her best to make it look careless, as though someone got distracted in the middle of organizing.

Once it’s all been arranged, Lucille takes a step back. From what she can discern, the cabinet was the only thing charmed; Sophia and Theseus should be able to retrieve the potion with no problem.

She can still kill Tina, of course. This act of mercy has nothing to do with her own agenda. This... well, she isn’t a _terrible_ person. She doesn’t explicitly condone mass murder. In fact, she can see the appeal. Killing animals has been calming enough. When you see red as intensely as Lucille often does, killing seems a no-brainer.

But no, that’s not her priority.

What _is_ her priority? If she’s holed away here, and there is certain unrest, even war, what will it take to get to Tina?

It may take everything, but Lucille is willing to give it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ferox = “savage”, Necare = “kill.”
> 
> I lowkey wanna take a poll at the end of this fic and see who everyone's favorite character is because I wonder if my OC's/characterization of lesser-known characters beat out Newt and Tina and resonate any more with readers. Not that I don't love the two, but as a writer, I found it way more interesting to write original characters (or semi-original including Theseus/Elsie/Seraphina) and I'm always curious to see if that was well-received.
> 
> I've already created a wrap-up survey though, so keep an eye out for the link on the last chapter :)


	83. I dreamt last night, the whole round world was mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which nothing really happens and everyone is testy.
> 
> “She’d better have food, she’s the damn president,” Sophia says threateningly.
> 
> “We’ll be right there,” Tina tells the panther Patronus, and sighs as it scampers away. “You look exhausted, Soph.”
> 
> “Yeah, well, that’ll be the exhaustion,” snaps Sophia.
> 
> TL;DR, Sopheus find the potion, Tina and Newt are like super into each other, and everyone argues. Featuring an incredibly hangry Sophia.
> 
> Chapter title from "Big Chief Blues" by Furry Lewis (1927)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't read the [Scamander Island intermission](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9240317/chapters/21256448) explaining the history of the island I recommend you do, for upcoming chapters!
> 
> I finally started scratching the surface of my inbox, and oh my goodness, you guys literally make me smile and I have a terrible poker face, so the friends I'm staying with were asking why I looked so happy and I had to explain the whole situation :P but really, thank you so much.
> 
> I full on wrestled with this chapter, because we are SO close to the climax of this whole fic and it’s torturous for me as a writer to have to basically kill time. Big thanks to @omqekki on Tumblr! She submitted an OC awhile ago which I didn’t get to use, so I ended up messaging her on Instagram because I needed an OC, and she gave me Amelia Buys!
> 
> I've had this sitting around making minor adjustments for over a week now, so I decided to just go ahead and post. This is all a first draft anyway :D

Sophia and Theseus are able to find the place on the map with relative ease; Serenity had in fact taken Sophia very near to the location one time when Sophia visited her during break. In her school days, the spell-maker often spent summers finding various places to practice in private, and she particularly liked the quiet and seclusion that the area afforded her. 

Given Sophia’s familiarity with the area, she’s able to Apparate herself and Theseus within a thousand feet of Grindelwald’s suspected hideout. From there, they wind their way through a small forested area before coming out on the other side. As Seraphina warned them, there seems to be an expansive invisibility spell around the vicinity when the couple arrives.

“All you,” Sophia tells Theseus, who always excelled in this sort of thing back in his heydey — or at least what the general public might deem his heydey, considering the fact that he isn’t exactly making headlines at the moment (though this may be soon to change for all of them). 

Upon returning from war, Theseus had chosen to step down from his official Auror position. This decision was borne of the psychological effects that fighting had produced, resulting in uncertainty on his behalf as to whether he would be able to perform the necessary functions for his job; the extraordinarily weak Ministry leadership, or, more accurately, lack thereof (and subsequently having no patience to deal with it); and simply preferring to use his skills as a normal civilian. Although his resignation was met with some disgruntlement and disappointment — and he himself had a decent amount of self-doubt after the fact — he’s incredibly grateful for not being an Auror at this point given that otherwise he probably would have been long deployed and separated from Sophia and the others. 

Now, Theseus is a little suspicious about how easy it is to get through all of the protective spells, but Sophia shuts him up with a look when he starts to hesitate. When he’s done, the building itself comes into view. He insists that he go first, in case there's some sort of booby trap situation like their last moderately disastrous quest. However, nothing happens and so, extremely cautiously, Theseus motions for her to join him.

“Do we knock?” Sophia asks dubiously.

He casts her an unusually disparaging look. “You would be  _ tremendous  _ at stealth training.”

“I dunno, forgive me for trying to be polite,” she shoots back. 

Theseus rolls his eyes, then nudges her as he raises his wand. “Come on.”

It isn't until after he's kicked the door down that Sophia cheerfully points out that it had been unlocked the entire time. “But it was a very gallant show,” she reassures him kindly, and pats his arm. 

He shakes his head, smiling, before remembering that they could probably die any minute. “You go left,” he directs her as they step into the foyer. For being the headquarters of Gellert Grindelwald, the man’s so-called lair is extremely unassuming. It has the air of a house belonging to a rich person who doesn’t spend very much time there, possibly because they are preoccupied running from the law and killing people.

“Theseus,” he hears Sophia say sharply. Panicking for a moment, he runs into the other room.

“Are you alright?”

Sophia raises an eyebrow at him. “I’m  _ fine,”  _ she snaps annoyedly, then points. “Is that it?”

At the center of the table is a box of potions. It looks as though someone forgot to put it back in its place, and there’s one vial sitting on the table in plain sight.

“Come on,” she whispers, beckoning him over.

_ “Ferox Necare,”  _ he reads, squinting at the label.

“D’you reckon it’s safe to touch?” Sophia asks nervously.

Nothing can be said to be safe to do anything with, but Theseus has a strange feeling about all of this. It’s almost as though it was staged, which means that this could easily be a booby trap, just like the suitcase. Looking at Sophia, he can tell she’s thinking the same.

“I mean, the chase was fun and all — gotta love the thrill of almost being killed — but I don’t really wanna go through that again,” she tells him. “Can you do some sort of spell?”

Theseus shakes his head. Not only is he slightly out of practice, but it doesn’t take an idiot to tell that the room is crawling with magic: a stark reminder of exactly  _ how _ powerful Grindelwald is. The man is likely more talented than the entire Auror force combined (although, based on the story Newt has to tell everyone within earshot, Tina certainly held her own against him last year), and anything Theseus can come up with is likely useless.

“Well, I guess we grab it and hope for the best, huh?” Sophia says. “‘Cause we really don’t have much time to lose, y’know, and I’m  _ feeling _ like they’re gonna target Scamander Island next, so I’d rather be  _ there _ instead of  _ here,  _ because it’s  _ my _ home too, and —”

“You really do not ever stop talking, do you,” Theseus says. He hesitates for one more second, then reaches out and, wincing, grabs the vial. Nothing happens. His wand is still at the ready, and he finds himself stepping in front of Sophia, as though he’s going to somehow protect her, but nobody comes.

“Wow, was that really — HEY!” Sophia yells, her head snapping towards a door down the hall, through which she’s absolutely positive she saw someone’s face before they ducked down. Someone who, based on Tina’s description, looks a  _ lot _ like... “Lucille!”

Theseus shushes her hurriedly; better Lucille be here than out on the run.

“No, she might know something —” Sophia tries to step towards the corridor, but Theseus won’t let her.

“She’s dangerous,” he says firmly, gripping her upper arm. “Let it go.” He holds up the potion. “We have what we came for.”

“Shouldn’t we Obliviate her?” Sophia points out. “She’ll tell Grindelwald —”

Theseus swears under his breath. Sophia is right: they now have a witness, and a very undesirable one at that. He takes stock of the situation, however, and the more time they spend here the more likely it is that someone will arrive and they’ll find themselves in a much hairier situation. “Not worth it,” he decides with some trepidation. “It is only a matter of time anyhow, and they already saw us steal the case.”

“Oh-kay,” Sophia replies dubiously. She seems to trust him, and turns towards the exit instead. “Let’s go then.”

Taking one last look around in an attempt to memorize the room, just in case that information proves useful later, Theseus nods and follows Sophia out of the building. Once they’re standing on a grassy lawn and the lair fades from view, they link arms and Disapparate, Theseus gripping the vial of poison and hoping against hope that this is the end.

* * *

_ Tuesday evening _

They land in the President’s office at around dusk, Sophia almost alighting on top of Newt (he’s been pacing around incessantly and rather obnoxiously ever since Seraphina relayed the information, so nobody in the room would lodge a complaint if she had) and Theseus gracefully reaching out a hand to the President the second his feet hit the floor.

“Welcome back,” Ewan says lazily, grinning at Sophia.

“EWAN!” she yells, and throws her arms around him. “Good gravy, I almost forgot you existed!”

“Nice,” he remarks, quirking the corner of his mouth.

“Oh no, not like that, I’m just happy to see you, y’know, get a break from my big brother over  _ here,”  _ she reaches up and raps Newt sharply on the head, “he’s been a nervous wreck. Hey,  _ you’d _ let me fight, right?”

“That’s quite enough,” Newt intercepts before Ewan can give the green light. 

“We have the potion,” Theseus reminds everybody. Seraphina is turning it over in her hands. “What should we do now?”

“I... haven’t a clue,” the President admits faintly. 

“Well, we can’t very well flush it down the loo,” Theseus points out.

“What about the Potions Waste Services?” asks Tina, frowning.

“I am loath to trust anybody with such a powerful potion,” Seraphina replies. “We know next to nothing about its ingredients; it could be quite dangerous.” She grimaces. “Our potions analysts were killed in an attack just a week ago. We obviously have not had time since to hire.”

Newt looks at Tina suddenly. “Queenie’s friend at Ilvermorny.”

She frowns. “What?”

“You said once that Queenie’s best friend in school was particularly good at handling hazardous potions.”

Mercy Lewis, even Tina had forgotten about that.  _ That  _ particular disaster was not one of her finer memories of Ilvermorny. “Amelia, yeah,” she says, and explains briefly that when she was 13 she got a little overambitious — “You? Overambitious?” Ewan quips from the corner — and tried to take on a volatile potion that most seventh years couldn’t mix. Right as the brew was on the brink of explosion, Amelia Buys, Queenie’s best friend, came to Tina’s rescue and casually managed to clean up the spill. The teachers all found out about the mishap, of course, but they were more impressed by the fact that a first year was able to contain the situation single-handedly.

“Does Queenie know where she lives?” Newt queries.

“I think they still talk sometimes,” Tina replies thoughtfully. “The last time I crossed paths with Amelia she was working for a private company. I thought she could maybe get a job here confiscating illegal potions and poisons.” 

“I am glad to see that you've begun to hire for the MACUSA as well,” Seraphina remarks dryly. “And you can trust her?”

“We can trust Queenie,” Newt puts in. 

“And Queenie trusts her,” finishes Tina.

Seraphina looks to Sophia, who is frowning into space, before seemingly realizing she just looked to  _ Sophia _ for guidance, and blinks several times. She must be going insane. “If that is the case...” she starts hesitantly.

“Time’s ticking, sis,” Ewan warns her. “Sounds like she’s our best bet, no?”

Seraphina acquiesces, so they send an emergency owl to Amelia, praying that she’ll be home — and as luck would have it, she is. Only fifteen minutes later there’s a knock on the door. Newt opens it, and Queenie’s childhood best friend walks in.

She’s small in stature, only about 5’3”, with long black hair and green-brown eyes, and when she speaks it’s with a dream-like quality just slightly reminiscent of Tina’s sister.

“Tina!” she exclaims first, embracing the Auror (and evidently ignoring the President of the Magical Congress of the United States of America). “Oh, it’s been too long, hasn’t it? I meant to write and congratulate you last year, but I got terribly busy... I heard you married Newt Scamander?” 

Sophia snorts loudly. That’s when Amelia turns around and it registers that Newt is standing in the office, and, judging by the looks on his and Tina’s faces, they clearly  _ aren’t _ married. 

“Damn, I’m sorry —”

“It’s fine, they’re gonna get married anyway,” Sophia reassures her, and extends a hand. “I’m Sophia.”

“The potion, please,” Seraphina says in her most imperious voice, in case they've forgotten why they’ve dragged Queenie’s childhood best friend into her office in the first place. 

“Oh, lovely,” Amelia says agreeably as the potion is placed into her hands. The President has a white knuckled grip on her wand, every line of her body tense, but Tina trusts Amelia. Still, she can't blame Seraphina for being just a tad stressed about the entire situation. 

“So?” Sophia asks eagerly. She’s practically breathing down Amelia's neck; Newt yanks her backwards several inches like a disapproving parent at a museum exhibit.

“Well, I can’t tell you the exact ingredients, but I think I can neutralize and dispose of it with no problem,” Amelia muses, gazing at the liquid. “It's laced with some sort of Dark magic. I take it you're more concerned about keeping it out of anyone else’s hands?”

“I am a bit concerned about having it in yours,” Seraphina says tightly. 

“Aw, she's cracked,” Ewan says, sidling up to her. He dodges her attack and instead pulls her firmly into his arms for a proper hug. “Calm down, Ser. Can't go crazy now, you're past the point of no return.” He winks at Amelia. “Gotta trust someone someday, ya know?”

Sophia’s head snaps up at the same time as Newt and Tina lock eyes. The nostalgia — how much time they've spent discussing this! — hits them all at once.  _ Trust. _

“I trust you,” Tina murmurs to her boyfriend when he comes closer. It's the simplest statement, but nearly enough to bring him to his knees thanks to the already emotionally charged state of affairs, because this... this is a confession and a promise. It's proof that she has finally let go of Alec (however temporary it may be now; with any luck it will only improve from here) and accepted that not everyone is here to let her down — that as chance would have it, she ran into the very man who would sooner die than leave.

Sophia starts to say something but, much to Newt’s surprise, stops. Instead, she gives him a bittersweet smile and nod. There are just so many  _ feelings  _ happening at once. And, as usual, this is entirely the wrong environment to be having this sort of revelation.

Amelia has finished her explanation by the time Newt and Tina clue back into what's going on. Seraphina observes, gripping her brother’s hand on her desk, as the woman expertly casts some sort of spell and the liquid ripples, emits a strange high-pitched whining sound, bubbles, and goes still once again. “Should be harmless now,” she says, tapping the glass with her wand for good measure. “You can put it down the sink if you want. That could’ve exploded,” she adds casually as Seraphina takes the potion back with palpable relief. “Someone real talented must’ve brewed it.”

“That’s what we’re afraid of,” Tina replies grimly. Then she smiles, a bit strained given the circumstances. “Thanks, Amelia. I’ll tell Queenie you say hello.”

Amelia nods agreeably. “Good to see you, Teen. Good to meet you, Madam President,” she adds. So she  _ does  _ know Seraphina exists. “Are we all set then?”

“Far from it,” Theseus mutters. 

Sophia hits him, then beams and proclaims, “Just ducky!”

Amelia gives one last wave and leaves the room.

* * *

_ Week 10, Wednesday morning _

Although they all want to return to Scamander Island, Tina is determined to stay and help operations to the best of her ability. The fact that she does still have a target on her back — that, by now, they likely all do — makes Seraphina hesitant to deploy the Auror, but she agrees to keep the foursome on standby. As such, they opt to go back to their original camping location and play the excruciating waiting game.

“I’m sure everyone’s fine at home,” Sophia reassures them as they sit in tense silence around the fire. None of them got very much rest; it was past midnight when they finally returned to the tent and nobody feels like sleeping in. “I mean, no news is good news, right?”

Luckily, they don’t have to wait long. This is mostly lucky given that Sophia’s levels of grumpiness due to lack of sustenance have reached new heights and they’ve decided that the most pressing matter at this time is how to get some food into her so she shuts up.

“She’d better have food, she’s the damn president,” Sophia says threateningly when Newt inquires as to whether they think Seraphina might be willing to supply a breakfast. “What good is a president if they don’t have a food stash in their office, hmm? It’s in the bloody  _ job _ description. Probably.”

“We’ll be right there,” Tina tells the panther Patronus, and sighs as it scampers away. “You look exhausted, Soph.”

“Yeah, well, that’ll be the exhaustion,” snaps Sophia.

Newt cuts in, in a valiant attempt to defend his girlfriend against verbal attack by what is essentially his four-foot-eleven, over tired and incredibly hungry kid sister. “No need to be —”

Sophia barrels on. “Brilliant observation,  _ really,  _ they taught you that in Auror training, did they? No  _ wonder  _ Seraphina reinstated you, with skills like  _ that...  _ good job, Teen.”

“Aaand we are leaving,” Theseus announces loudly, before Newt — whose patience is not much thicker than Sophia’s — can cause further damage.

It turns out that Seraphina, shockingly, does not provide a full-on buffet, but when Sophia threatens to take “extreme measures” Ewan kindly offers to step out and retrieve some breakfast for the young woman.

“You’d be a  _ much _ better fake big brother than Newtie over here,” Sophia informs him. Although Newt pretends not to care, Tina catches his fleetingly injured expression. He’s so  _ adorable _ sometimes, she thinks helplessly, but turns a blind eye when he shoots her a questioning look.

Seraphina preventatively steps between Sophia and Newt, then kisses her twin on the cheek in a rare show of affection. “Be safe.”

Ewan winks. “Nothing but.”

“Have you any news?” Theseus turns and asks Seraphina as soon as Ewan leaves. Tina beckons Sophia closer and manages to retrieve a comb from her bag, which she hands to the young woman.

“Why? My hair’s fine,” Sophia protests.

“You looks like a bird with terrible design skills made a nest in your hair,” Theseus informs her.

Tina, having none of it (it’s nearly fourth-cup-of-coffee o’clock for her), decides to simply attack Sophia with the styling tool. A brief scuffle ensues as the others look on wearily and wait for it to be over. The Auror emerges victorious and, glaring but slightly more presentable, Sophia plunks herself down on a couch which has only recently appeared. She’s pretty sure that it’s been put there exclusively because of the foursome’s relentless presence in Seraphina’s office.

“As Madam President was saying,” Newt speaks up; they have more things to worry about now than hairdressing.

“Thank you, Mr. Scamander. It may interest you to know that we have a little bit more intel on Grindelwald’s followers. They call themselves Grindlers,” Seraphina says with a pained expression.

“Woooow,” Sophia says, loud and unimpressed. She pauses thoughtfully. “Then again, if I had an evil army, I dunno what I’d call it... ‘Sophies’ just doesn’t sound good, it sounds like they’re all named Sophie — which incidentally, I don’t even  _ like _ being called, except I guess Theseus is okay — not to mention the fact that we already have a band of Newties running rampant on the streets, of course, although I’m starting to think they’ve gone off of Newt, he hasn’t been accosted in awhile —”

Newt, who has seated himself next to Sophia, sticks his hand over her mouth and nods ever so respectfully at the President to continue. Seraphina looks even more pained. “Their agenda is not completely clear,” she explains, “but I am sure it took no genius to realize that the potion has been stolen. Whether Lucille told them or not, it likely only confirmed suspicion. As to whether they actually recognize the culprits... I suspect they may target Scamander Island next.”

“They can’t,” Sophia declares. “It’s safe.”

“But somebody got through to steal the creatures,” Tina reminds her.

Sophia hesitates. “Yeah, but... but the big thing, the big shielding charm or whatever, it kept those bad guys from Canin out before, right? When they first figured out the magic?”

Seraphina furrows her brow. “We cannot be sure. Scamander Island has not been a target in a situation as serious as this before. For years it was a little known location.”

“So what're you saying?” Sophia demands to know. Newt pats her on the head in a  _ calm down and stop yelling at the President whose twin brother is getting you your damn breakfast  _ manner.

“On the one hand, I want to say that it would not be unwise for you to return, in case a battle does commence there. On the other, your presence may seriously jeopardize the safety of its inhabitants.” 

“Have you talked to the Ministry at all?” Tina joins Newt and Sophia on the couch; Newt puts his arm around her. “Maybe they could be helpful.”

This suggestion is met with a bitter laugh from the President. “Emmeline is a force to be reckoned with, but has no sense of priorities. I do believe she is still nursing a blow to her pride at her semi-defeat during the creature attack. And Hector... well, that goes without saying.”

“Hear, hear,” Theseus murmurs in assent. He perches on the arm of the sofa, next to Sophia. “Perhaps we ought to split up.”

“What good will that do?” Seraphina asks a bit more sharply than expected. “We have disposed of the potion. I have half of MACUSA searching for Grindelwald’s exact whereabouts. This is much more than just the creatures now. This is a planned attack. We just don’t know when.”

“So we wait,” Tina suggests.

“You’re just  _ full _ of good ideas today, aren’t you,” Sophia says acerbically.

“Now I get how you feel,” Tina tells Newt, leaning her head on his shoulder. He nods, half amused and mostly concerned, and presses his lips to her temple.

“Oh, I’m sorry, have I not given  _ Newtie  _ enough attention?” Sophia adds, leaning forward to glower at Newt. “Would you rather I take it out on you? You’re the one who decided not to bring food anyway, great thinking —”

“I would say I was rather preoccupied at the time,” Newt shoots back. “Do not forget that we nearly died, along with the...”  _ Along with the beasts. _

This reminder sobers Sophia instantly. She flops against the back of the couch, all traces of anger gone as she thinks about the creatures they lost. And Fairclaw... 

“Okay, everyone can stop right there,” Ewan announces, striding into the office. He comes bearing enough for a miniature feast. “No need for gloom and doom,” he adds, kneeling down to eye level with Sophia. “Food fixes all woes.”

“I think you’ll find that tea and a biscuit does that,” Theseus puts in. He smiles warmly at his — he really, really wants to refer to her as his sister-in-law at this point — brother’s girlfriend, and for a moment everything seems alright. “But this is nearly as good.”

“Not all superheroes wear capes,” Tina says to Newt, who grins.

Unsurprisingly, Sophia devours the majority of the food but leaves enough for the rest. Tina experiences a pang of homesickness when she reaches for the pastries. She misses her sister, she misses Jacob’s baking and cooking, and she wishes she could turn back time.

“Where’s Queenie?” Newt asks quietly, seemingly reading her mind. “Could she join us?”

Tina shakes her head. “She has to keep an eye out for Jacob. There’s not really anywhere that’s safe for him now, but MACUSA’s probably not the best choice. And I don’t know how risky it might be for us to try and visit the apartment.”

“I am sorry,” is all Newt can think to say, and kisses her very lightly, and she really loves him quite a lot. 

This sort of thing needs to stop, she scolds herself. It’s distracting, and makes no sense that she would be acting all lovesick  _ now,  _ of all times. Then again, nobody’s lives are exactly safe, and to be fair the man is stupidly attractive. Who would have thought Tina Goldstein might one day be standing in the President’s office, ogling her boyfriend, while the threat of war hangs ominously over their heads?

“Oh my god, pull it together,” Sophia, Tina’s real life voice of reason, interjects. “I  _ swear _ I’m going to put a blanket over his head, because this is out of control.”

“It’s fine,” Tina insists, cheeks coloring.

“You too,” Sophia turns on Newt. “This is a  _ serious  _ situation here, so stop undressing her with your eyes at every juncture —”

Seraphina looks like she may pass out, Newt looks horrified, Ewan and Theseus are both smirking, and Tina wants to die a premature death. An awkward silence reigns for about ten seconds before Theseus breaks it.

“That’s taken care of, then.”

“I just  _ like _ her,” Newt mutters beside Sophia, who flicks him in the ear. “Ow!”

She rolls her eyes. “We all  _ know _ you like her, it’s pretty apparent, I’d say, but we sort of have a  _ situation  _ here, so take all your liking for her and Vanish it or something until this is over, wouldja?”

This sufficiently quells the couple, and after some more fruitless discussion they consider whether it’s worth chancing it and trying to research this Mordechai business, which has not been touched since the hippogriff attack. Sophia is quite eager to do something other than watch everyone be stressed, and Theseus is willing, but security issues remain. “If you’re so sure they’re going to attack Scamander Island, why can’t you send anyone there?” Tina asks.

“There is a chance that they are tracking any movements to and from the island,” Seraphina explains hesitantly. “But we will certainly deploy in the case that there is indeed some manner of attack.”

“So what in the name of Eunice Frye’s left buttock are we supposed to do?” Sophia asks in dismay.

Ewan nudges Seraphina, who turns towards him.

“No,” she says instantly at the mischievous look on his face. “Ewan. No.”

“Oh, don’t be a wet blanket,” he scoffs.

“I am  _ not _ drinking —”

“One won’t hurt!”

“I’m in,” Sophia says quickly. Although nobody wants to directly go against the President’s orders, her authority over them  _ is  _ somewhat diminished after the amount of things they’ve dealt with together, and if all they can do now is sit around waiting for a call, then why not?

“I will not partake,” Seraphina declares.

“So it’s a yes for us, then,” Sophia promptly clarifies, and hops to her feet. “Bring it on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been on vacation and still have to write an essay and study for two tests whilst traveling through Arizona, so that’s fun, but I’ve been writing loads (mostly about the Newtina family and some next-gen shenanigans). And I may have started an incredibly angsty Newtina AU situation.
> 
> Thanks again for all the kind comments. I really appreciate it.
> 
> You can add me on Snapchat @edye327, by the way, if you want to see exactly how awkward your crazy author’s life is.


	84. Did you ever hear them church bells tone, means another poor boy is dead and gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which shit hits the fan.
> 
> “Elsie!” David says sharply, pointing to the sky.
> 
> Elsie looks up; a horde of dark figures are flying down towards the island. She freezes, mind going blank for a moment. 
> 
> It happens in seconds. Before she can so much as Disapparate, the figures come hurtling down and slam into the ground like a torpedo. The village explodes in flames and smoke and crackling electricity from the charged lightning bolts.
> 
> Chapter title from “See That My Grave Is Kept Clean” by Blind Lemon Jefferson (1927)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where everything becomes more canon-divergent and alters some of the canon history (unless, you know, they just all kept this quiet and JKR never knew about the Scamander Island battle).
> 
> Thought I'd give y'all two chapters instead of one. I hope you enjoy the action!

_ Wednesday afternoon _

It feels odd and infuriatingly useless to sit around reading books and playing games, but the foursome’s only two options now are to fight and wait. It won’t do to be impulsive, Seraphina had reminded them, because they may be very much needed in the future, so best to wait until they are called.

“This is horrible!” Sophia declares. Newt has decided to pace around the tent incessantly, Tina is lost in thought (and, judging by her strained expression, not overly pleasant thought), Theseus looks like a morose Greek statue, and Sophia is going stir-crazy. “I mean, if he’s gonna create a mass explosion, could he hurry up?”

“Sophia!” Tina says sharply.

“What?”

“Now is not the time to be immature,” Theseus — Theseus! — says, and the fact that  _ he _ would say something to her in that condescending tone is like a slap to the face. Furious, Sophia hurls the pack of Exploding Snap cards at him and stalks off to the other end of the tent, where she sits down on the floor and crosses her arms.

“You do realize you are only proving his point,” Newt says, stopping to look down at her.

“Nice of you to join,” she snaps. Truth be told, it actually hurt that Theseus might accuse her of being immature; part of her immaturity is for show, and she really  _ can _ be quite mature, and she would have thought he might  _ realize _ that, but no, apparently not. It would seem that she’s really just a kid sister to him.

“Soph...”

“Newtie...”

He sits and puts his arm around her shoulders.

“Please do not condescend to me,” she warns him.

“No, I — I understand how you must feel.”

“Do you?”

“You are making this extraordinarily difficult for me.”

“Yeah, what else is new.”

He smiles, which makes her smile slightly, and then he lets out a little chuckle, and all of a sudden they’re both laughing like mad people. “What else is new, indeed,” he says once they’ve calmed down and Theseus and Tina have given up. “I suppose we must wait. I... I am no fonder of the prospect than you, but it is how it is.”

“I hope we don’t wait  _ long,”  _ she sighs.

As it would just so happen, they don’t.

* * *

Scamander Island is already in a tizzy, given that there are now two wanted Scamanders on the loose and that it is more than likely for Grindelwald to check their personal island first. The council is only going in circles around evacuation plans, because they certainly can’t be a safe house now, and the attacks have been so random that there are hardly any guarantees. Besides which, their only feasible means of transportation would be non-magical, physical, or Apparition, which for the most part limits them to nearby areas of Europe (particularly considering that many have never even strayed off the island).

As much as everyone would like to place blind faith in the magical protection barrier, Grindelwald is far more skilled and has far more backup than anything the island has ever faced. It is thus decided that for the time being, at least, they can begin with preparation for a potential battle. The council members are gathering crews of adults willing to help with reinforcement when all hell breaks loose.

“Elsie!” David says sharply, pointing to the sky.

Elsie looks up; a horde of dark figures are flying down towards the island. She freezes, mind going blank for a moment.

“Hurry!” David shouts, whipping out his wand. The islanders who are outside with them begin raising the alarm as the attackers bear down and are repelled once, twice, thrice by the protection barrier. But then a series of spells shower down, spells nobody has seen before, lightning bolts of fiery red and orange and black, and everyone on Scamander Island screams as the protective shield begins to crack.

Elsie swears under her breath, turning to Ignotus and David. “They are targeting Wyverthwaite,” she realizes. “We must tell the villagers to evacuate.”

It happens in seconds. Before she can so much as Disapparate, the figures come hurtling down and slam into the ground like a torpedo. The village explodes in flames and smoke and crackling electricity from the charged lightning bolts. 

And then they're gone, having left their mark and the rest of the island untouched.

“A statement,” Elsie breathes even as she screams internally. “He is making a statement.” She turns to face the shocked islanders, staring in absolute horror at the charred wreckage left behind. “The barrier has been penetrated. We must seek protection. They will return.”

David and Ignotus are white and tense beside her, but they stand in solidarity. Scamander Island has long established a chain of command for emergency situations, and Paulina Woodcroft quickly takes charge, assembling groups to tend to the village and start recovery efforts immediately. This leaves the council to formulate a plan, any plan, for what to do next. 

“Let’s go,” Ignotus says firmly, gesturing towards the manor.

“We cannot leave them now!” Elsie protests, aghast.

“We need to focus,” says David grimly. “If we get swept up in this, nothing is going to get done and they will win.”

Elsie watches, shaking, as Wyverthwaite crumbles into smoke and settling debris and islanders continue to race through the village trying to find survivors. She cannot help, because it is  _ her _ job to come up with a plan, and for the first time in her entire life she wishes briefly that she was not their leader. 

“It’s our job,” Ignotus says with uncharacteristic gentleness. “We must wait for them to report back. It doesn’t look good.”  _ That  _ is an understatement if there ever was one: Wyverthwaite is virtually unrecognizable, even from here. 

After briefly congregating in the foyer of the manor, Elsie, Ignotus, and David decide to instruct everyone who is not assisting to stay in their houses and cast protection spells. Islanders — some crying, some trembling, some frozen in shock — thankfully don’t ask questions and immediately follow the council’s directions.

Paulina enters the manor only a few minutes later. “There are no survivors,” she says in a high-pitched voice, though her eyes are steely with determination. A look of understanding passes between her and Elsie: this will not be the first battle these two women fight together. The last one saw them in substantially better shape, but beggars cannot, after all, be choosers.

“Very well,” Elsie says, reminded all in a rush of what it truly means to be a woman warrior. “The bodies must be left there for now. Tell the others to join their families and protect themselves.”

Paulina nods and Disapparates.

“We must shield our islanders,” Elsie says urgently, turning back to Ignotus and David. “It is  _ our _ duty to protect them.”

David’s mouth is a tight line and he speaks with the same barely suppressed urgency as Paulina — as everyone. “We can only do our best. I don’t know as dividing and conquering is the safest method.”

“I don't think we can stay here,” Elsie responds fearfully. “It is an easy target, I...” She suddenly recalls a story passed down to Scamanders over generations. The last time they were attacked — before they found the island — they were able to hide under a unique combination of specialized, undocumented spells. Undocumented, that is, to  _ most _ of the wizarding world. Elsie Summons an old leatherbound book from her office and flips it open to one fading page. 

“We have never done that kind of magic before,” Ignotus says dubiously.

“What other choice do we have? The protective barrier has already been breached. We can only hope that some of the magic remains — that the magic tied to our positions on this island will come through.” 

She stands akimbo, eyes flickering between both men, who seem to be caught in the same internal struggle. Well, if they aren’t going to budge, she’s going to take matters into her own hands.

“Ready?” she asks much more dangerously and adopting a tone most reminiscent of Sophia’s Army General voice.

Not another word is spoken, nor a complaint lodged. The men have come to their senses, then. The three leaders grasp forearms in a triangular formation, an old Scamander Island Council tradition to establish the unity that they need now more than ever. David and Ignotus nod soberly.

Elsie sets her jaw. “Then let’s go.”

The threesome round up all of the surviving islanders and lead them hastily to the very first section of island which the original Theseus had found all those centuries ago. It’s a roped off, historical area reserved for weddings and other special community events. Elsie prays that some of the magic still lingers there.

There are only about fifty survivors, but they cannot focus on death and loss and fear now. Instead, they work together quickly and silently to erect a tent. Even the children — fortunately, there are no babies at the moment — have grasped the gravity of the situation; the older ones help their parents quietly, while the little ones manage to stay in one place.

As the tent is raised, Elsie, David, and Ignotus begin uttering the complicated series of incantations. They work until they have exhausted the spells from the book as well as every single one they've learned in schooling, in training, and in war.

“It is the best we can do,” Elsie says weakly, hand shaking around her wand. The tent is in place now: its enchantments are limited and it resembles a canvas wedding tent more than anything. There are enough tables and chairs inside for some sort of order to be regained, and Paulina subtly makes sure that there is a first aid section near the back, which Elsie has a horrible feeling will soon need to be expanded.

“What now?” Poppy asks.

In addition to the built-in furnishings, the islanders have set up fires and blankets and have even stocked some tables with food. Elsie’s stomach clenches: she knows they are trusting her to have a plan, to keep them all safe. And she has none. 

“I don't know,” she whispers, sinking to the floor and burying her head in her hands. “I don't know.”

* * *

_ Wednesday evening _

It happens in a flash an hour after sunset: there's a whoosh, a scream, and a thump. In the two seconds it takes Elsie to seize her wand and push open the tent flaps, the attacker is gone. 

Leaving its mark on the ground, in the form of...

Elsie gasps; grief tears through her like ice. Daisy Pembroke is lying peacefully on the ground, dead.

“Elsie, what —” David stops still as he realizes. “Oh,” he says weakly, and grabs onto the tent pole for support. “Lacy, I —”

Lacy comes up behind him, eyes widening as she takes in the horrific image. “No!” she screams, running over and falling to her knees beside her daughter’s tiny body. “No — Daze — sweetheart, no —”

“Come here,” Elsie says, swallowing down her own tears. “Come along.”

“No,” Lacy weeps, “no, my baby —” She clings to Daisy’s limp hand. Daisy’s fingers slacken and a small scrap of parchment floats into the ground. The note is written in blood red ink:  _ Snitches Get Stitches.  _ Daisy had been the one to tell, been the only witness to the suitcase’s abduction. She hadn’t even provided detailed information, and yet...

“We must get you to safety,” the councilwoman says firmly. She uses her wand to hold Daisy’s body aloft as they walk towards the shelter. Lacy won’t — perhaps can’t — move. “Hurry,” Elsie urges, grimacing but yanking the grieving mother to her feet. They have a much more pressing problem now: someone got through the protections again.

“She’s gone,” Lacy wails, falling through the tent flaps and crumpling on the floor. “Daisy, she’s gone, my baby is gone...” Her face is twisted in anguish, her sobs ugly and silent in pain.

“Oh, dear god,” Poppy cries, covering her mouth in horror. “Oh, honey,” and she wraps her arms around the other mother. Ignotus turns around from where he was talking to Paulina and his eyes fall on his daughter’s body; stricken, he rushes over to Daisy's side and Elsie can't look at his face or else she will surely lose it.

“We have to get the children to safety,” she says urgently to David as a crowd gathers and men’s hats come off. “We must.”

“How?”

She wracks her brain. It's an impossible task — completely, utterly impossible. 

But then she remembers something: one more element of Scamander Island’s founding history. It's insane, but it could work. If she has learned anything about magic through the years it's that it works in the most mysterious, selective ways. She may not be able to save the adults, but she can sure as hell do her utmost to save their children.

“Delphyne,” she tells David. 

He blanches. “Surely not.”

“There are rumors that she still guards the island.”

“Not for centuries. How do we find her?”

Elsie can't believe it, cannot  _ believe  _ that she remembers any of this. Her husband taught it to her years and years ago, when they met as kids. He thought it was a myth, a legend that would never come true.

Except perhaps it could. 

They have nothing to lose. 

Elsie instructs everyone to gather their children together. It hurts to see how much the islanders trust her despite the evident failure of her protection spells — how much they trust her not to let them down. She has surely earned this trust over the years, but still. 

Then, without telling anybody else exactly what she plans to do, Elsie bravely steps outside the rippling tent flaps. “ _ Contego Draco!” _ she shouts over the wind, which seems to be picking up speed as waves lap violently against the shore. _ “Contego Draco!  _ Delphyne!”

There is silence as the islanders clutch one another and wait. 

Elsie yells one more time, desperate, “Delphyne!” 

Then it happens.

The wind picks up one thousand times stronger, so strong that people are thrown asunder, hitting the sides of the tent; parents grab at their children before they float away. Elsie stands rooted, hands on her hips, chin jutting out, eyes blazing. She  _ will  _ save her people, if it is the last thing she does. 

A massive, ancient creature hurtles from the sky and lands before the tent, causing the entire island to shake. It's Delphyne, the dragon that the original Scamanders had taken to the island and who had disappeared after they reached their destination. There were many speculations about her whereabouts over the years, but eventually she just became part of Scamander Island’s history and, as centuries passed, on par with Tiny the colossal squid.

Elsie has seen dragons before (raising Newt, making acquaintances with dragons is an inevitability), but none as breathtaking as this truly magnificent beast. “Delphyne,” Elsie says reverently, stepping out and touching the dragon’s great horn. A golden eye gazes at her majestically. Undercurrents of some sort of connection palpably run between the two of them; it is a deep, ingrained sense of oneness that Elsie has never experienced and would consider herself blessed to have done were it not for the circumstances.

Then Delphyne flaps her wings and takes a step back, conveying a message of urgency. They have no time to lose. 

“You will protect them?” Elsie whispers. Delphyne bows her head and crouches down, angling her mighty wings so that the children can clamber onto her back. Tearful goodbyes and “I love you”s are exchanged, parents crying and grieving and frightened but placing their trust in the most sacred and ancient magic of this island.

“Thank you,” Elsie says, resting a hand briefly on the dragon’s nose, which is the only place she can reach now that Delphyne is prepared to depart. They make eye contact, their gazes matched in intensity and blazing. This exchange somehow fortifies Elsie: it's as though the beast is giving her strength for what lies ahead. Delphyne is as much a part of this island as she is. Together, they will protect their people.

Then, without further ado, Delphyne flaps her wings, sending massive gusts of wind everywhere. Everyone stumbles again, but the children on her back are snug, secure, and safe. 

“Thank you!” Elsie cries to the dragon as she lifts off. Delphyne pauses once more before her sinewed back legs contract and she launches herself into the air, a beautiful, magnificent thing, and flies out of sight in seconds. “She will take care of them,” Elsie pledges her people, still gazing up at the sky. She does not know where, why, or how, but the children here are sitting ducks. At least, with a creature the size and caliber of Delphyne, they may have a fighting chance at survival. 

“That will make the history books, that will,” an old man says from the tent. 

“Now what?” Paulina Woodcroft asks.

Elsie squares her chin, turning to the adults in the crowd. “Now,” she says confidently, voice reverberating around the cavernous area, “we must fight.”

* * *

The foursome arrive just after Delphyne has left. Their long afternoon of killing time sufficiently concluded, Seraphina had decided that — in Ewan’s eloquent words — at this point, everyone’s screwed, so why not let them go fight with their family. When their feet touch down on Scamander Island, Newt straightens up and swallows a gasp.

Devastation. Pure, total devastation. All that remains of the village are tree stumps and charred infrastructure. The bodies are laid out haphazardly; when they aren’t strategizing, islanders have been extremely cautious to venture out and recover some of them, and so they have been forced to leave them in place for the time being.

“Come on,” Tina says urgently, jaw clenched, “we need to get to the tent.” Theseus and Sophia have already hurried off, conferring in anxious tones about what exactly might be yet to come.

Newt can barely tear his eyes away; this was his  _ home.  _ Everything that was burnt, demolished, was an integral part of his childhood. Although he wandered for years,  _ this _ was where he belonged. Until his enchanted case, and until meeting Tina, Wyverthwaite — this island — was all he could want for out of life. 

But he takes Tina’s hand blindly, a bit desperately, and allows her to lead him over through the protection spells (if they are even effective anymore) to the tent. There, Theseus and Sophia are waiting, twin sober expressions on their faces. Sophia gives Newt a proper hug, then informs them that the Ministry has sent for backup. Unfortunately, there's just been an attack in Norway which has necessitated the dispatch of most able employees, but MACUSA has been on high alert and Seraphina promised to keep an eye on the situation as soon as it comes time to fight.

Elsie runs over to greet them. “We have an armory,” she states, “which has not been touched in years. It might befit us to see if there is anything of use there. But nobody can now take the risk of leaving the tent. We are safer in numbers, and I… much as I despise it, I must stay.”

“We can go,” Tina volunteers immediately, taking Newt’s hand.

The couple is met with the same infuriating pitying, sympathetic, hesitant, and even slightly frightened looks they continue to receive. “Why don’t we go,” Sophia suggests gently.

Theseus concedes. “Perhaps it is best.”

“What are we supposed to do, then?” Newt asks bitterly, watching Sophia and Theseus walk away. “Hide in here like — like children?”

“No,” Tina says sharply. “No, we can strategize…”

“Come,” Elsie says, beckoning them over to the table. Ignotus is missing and David is visibly shaken.

“Who died?” Newt asks instantly.

“Daisy Pembroke,” Elsie whispers.

Newt feels his stomach sink. “The little girl?” She had been the one to comfort her younger sister at that rather disastrous dinner. And she had been the one to give the lead on the suitcase. It all makes sense — twisted, sickening sense.

“At least,” Tina says, voice trembling, “the rest of the children are safe.”

_ At least.  _ At least isn’t  _ good _ enough, but it’s all they’ve got.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm loving the girl power vibes between Elsie and Paulina tbh. They're so badass.
> 
> "Contego Draco" translates approximately to "Dragon Shield." Delphyne was the female dragon who guarded the oracle of Delphi in Greek mythology. I thought it was appropriate given that "Scamander" has potential Greek roots (it's the name of a river god).


	85. Did you ever hear that coffin' sound, means another poor boy is under ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which people die, Newt and Tina have a domestic in the middle of a battle, and it's not over yet.
> 
> Sophia ducks, missing the curse by a hair. Then, as Frida goes to raise her wand again, Newt comes hurtling out of nowhere and bellows, “NOT MY SISTER, YOU BITCH!”
> 
> Before Frida can do anything, Newt slashes his wand savagely through the air and she crumples to the ground. He glances around quickly, then Summons Sophia’s wand and runs over to her.
> 
> “Are you alright?” he asks, hugging her urgently.
> 
> “Yep,” she says weakly, taking her wand back. “You called me your —”
> 
> “WATCH OUT!” Tina cries from the periphery. 
> 
> Chapter title from “See That My Grave Is Kept Clean” by Blind Lemon Jefferson (1927)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here, have a 6.3k chapter. Enjoy the good ol' Molly Weasley/OotP reference!
> 
> We're moving right along with the plot. Leave it to me to still manage to sneak some Newtina/Sopheus in there. I don't know about you, but I'm a huge fan of warrior!Sophia and I lowkey wanna see more of that. We should start a petition to JKR to include Sophia in the next movie :P
> 
> Maybe brace yourself?

_Week 10, Thursday morning_

Considering their opponents, the general plan of attack for the Scamander Island army is obviously going to be dueling. Islanders who have lived here in comfort for ages find that they need to brush up on their dueling skills, a task which suitably occupies Newt and Tina (Newt's instruction leaves much to be desired, and he ends up proudly watching his girlfriend give a crash course in how to duel with Dark wizards). Despite this plan, physical force and weaponry may at least keep the Grindlers at bay, and so Sophia and Theseus, aided by a handful of Squibs, begin unloading the rather obsolete Scamander Manor armory. For being quite a well-oiled operation, the Scamanders have not exactly been on top of things in the defense department. Probably because, since the island’s discovery and creation, they’ve generally led idyllic lives and the thought of war was unimaginable.

With the fairly rudimentary weaponry, which is most in line with the early-modern period, comes the need for practice. Theseus knows all there is to know about weapons of all kinds (much to Sophia’s delight and slight competitiveness) and takes on the role of trainer alongside his brother and Tina. Nobody wants to actually run someone through with a sword; however, it’s relatively unlikely that the Grindlers might come similarly armed, and the threat of being killed in such a Muggle-esque yet brutally effective way should be a sufficient temporary deterrent. Of course, magic can easily combat physical force, but for the Squibs wanting to fight it’s their only option.

Which brings up the issue of the Squibs. The council considers sending them to the Ministry or MACUSA, but neither place feels very reliable and if forces are deployed here, there will be little to no protection left for them. In the current climate, Squibs are about as good as Muggles. It’s finally decided that the non-magical population will have to do their utmost to stay out of the way, carry weapons, and hope for the best.

By late afternoon, everyone has gotten quite antsy. “I just wanna get it over with,” Sophia complains, taking inventory of the armory for the fiftieth time as though one of the halberds is about to spontaneously disappear. The Pembrokes are still grieving Daisy, as is the rest of the island, but little can be done. Once whatever is to happen happens, they can worry about bodies.

Things worsen when, as the sun is setting, they get news that the Ministry has been struck down. Emmeline Carmichael has been killed, Hector taken prisoner, and Grindelwald’s puppets have infiltrated the government. They are already prepared to begin implementing anti-Muggle laws and to see their agenda through as quickly and ruthlessly as possible. Grindlers are on the loose, cities are being raided, and Elsie decides she would rather they come put up a good fight on the island than continue to murder innocent Muggles.

“I believe we should get their attention,” Elsie finally announces after much debate. She explains her altruistic reasoning, and nobody can argue.

“How do we even communicate with an evil Dark wizard?” Sophia poses the million-dollar question.

“As dramatically as he would communicate with us, I presume,” Theseus replies.

“Good, Soph can do the honors then,” Newt offers her up as though offering up a human sacrifice.

Sophia scowls. “I’m not dram —”

“Just send an owl,” Ignotus suggests, not wanting to put up with any of this.

“But he might kill the owl,” Tina says in genuine concern. She looks at Newt for backup; he falls in love with her a little bit more, which isn’t exactly helpful at this point in time.

“It’s just an owl,” Ignotus retorts. Tina glares at him.

As luck would have it (or not), no communication or owl casualties are necessary. Scamander Island receives a letter, written in the same blood red ink as the paper found with Daisy’s body, as their only warning. They have until sundown, less than two hours, to prepare.

Now that reality has set in and this battle is becoming increasingly real, help is sent for. Every available MACUSA employee arrives, including the President and her ever-present, wisecracking brother, who immediately takes stock of the situation and does his best to lighten the mood.

Emilia and George are overjoyed to see their daughter, who admits that she missed them a lot and immediately drags Elsie over. “I’d be very happy to have tea with your parents, dear,” Elsie tells Sophia, “but I am afraid we have rather more pressing matters at the moment.”

George actually _apologizes_ to Newt for his previous rude behavior, surprising them all, and, much to Sophia’s amusement, seems intimidated by and avoidant of Theseus, mumbling something unintelligible and immediately walking away. “Yeah, gotta watch out for the big bad war hero,” she says, winking at Theseus as she follows her dad.

“You okay, sis?” Ewan asks Seraphina, pulling her aside in concern amidst the clamor and barely contained frenzy.

“It _is_ a bit strange not...” Seraphina stops, evidently unsure how to continue without sounding conceited.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, you’re the president, big deal,” he teases. “Weird to see someone else running the show?”

“Well, yes.”

He hugs her gruffly. “Good to have a break once in awhile, ya know? Kick back, relax...”

Seraphina frowns. “I don’t think I know how to relax.”

“Oh, Sera. We’ve all been saying that from day one.” Ewan grins and pats her on the back.

Meanwhile, Andy and Juliet have arrived, Andy having narrowly escaped the Ministry takeover and fled with her wife. Grace isn’t far behind, as well as Lilli, Serenity, and Amelia. Sophia attempts some sort of speed catch-up session in which she tries to have rapid-fire conversations with each of her friends while simultaneously gearing up for the fight of her life.

“Sophie,” Theseus finally says, dragging her away. “Now is not the time to socialize.”

“It’s _always_ the time to socialize,” Sophia insists, but gets her priorities straight and promises to catch up with everyone later.

Queenie and Tina have limited time for a tearful reunion. Jacob was allowed to come — despite his lack of magical ability, he never fails to act as though his mere presence will be enough to keep his fiancée from harm — but is obviously as defenseless as the Squibs, leaving Queenie very worked up but all the more determined to remove this evil from the world.

On the bright side (or not), the newcomers’ arrival means that Theseus and Queenie get to meet for the first time. The Legilimens immediately picks up on something, makes knowing eye contact with Theseus, glances at Sophia, and then back at Theseus with a pitying look that catches him off guard. Later, he asks her quietly, “With all due respect, could you please stop reading me like that?”

“I'm sorry, honey,” Queenie murmurs, every syllable dripping with sympathy. “People are easiest to read when they’re hurting.”

“I am not hurting,” Theseus insists.

Even he doesn't believe it, but there's no time to dwell on unrequited love. They have a battle to fight — and fight it they will.

* * *

_Thursday evening_

The Grindlers start out as black specks and hurtle with increasing momentum towards the island.

“They are targeting Wyverthwaite again,” Elsie says quickly, eagle-eyed as she tracks their trajectory. “They will challenge us there.”

“The bodies,” Paulina points out, and Disapparates. Poppy and Lacy follow, as do a handful of other islanders.

Those who volunteered to fight with brute force arm themselves now. Sophia has discovered the joys of archery and much to everyone’s trepidation is alarmingly adept. “It's okay, I won't _kill_ anyone,” she says reassuringly. “Just take out an eye or two.” The entire tent turns to Elsie, who promises to confiscate the weapon as soon as all of this is over.

Paulina returns with the others, who have successfully concealed and protected the bodies. They're just in time, too, for the Grindlers are bearing down now, only a few hundred feet away.

“Are you ready?” someone shouts from the crowd.

Someone else shoots red sparks into the sky. And thus it begins.

Before they can even charge, however, something odd happens: Grindlers start inexplicably flying through the air, shouting in surprise as they hit the water.

“Oh my god, it’s Tiny!” Sophia yells, getting a closer look at the massive creature who’s sending Grindelwald’s army airborne. Giant tentacles emerge amongst foaming, cresting waves and knock the wizards off balance. There’s a great deal of noise between the splashing and cries and general chaos of the night; it would seem that Tiny is at least partly impervious to magic, given the fact that she seems utterly unaffected by the onslaught of spells.

“She can’t keep them out forever,” Elsie frets.

“Oh, don’t be so defeatist, dear,” Poppy says, patting her kindly on the shoulder. “I always knew that silly colossal squid would amount to something. First Delphyne, then Tiny... and this is all Newtie’s doing.” She nearly puffs up in pride; one would think Newt is _her_ son. (Sophia points out under her breath that he had literally nothing to do with Delphyne, and demands to know why everyone thinks her stupid big brother is so great.)

Newt’s doing or no, the squid eventually sinks back into the water, unable to keep up with the sheer number of Grindlers now raining down on the island. As islanders wait, seconds stretching out to hours, the first one lands, his black boots hitting the ground with a resounding thump. There’s a beat of complete silence as everyone waits to see what happens. But the protective barrier has long since caved, and as he looks up, eyes glinting, the battle commences in earnest.

Those armed with weapons are led by Sophia, who stands at the top of the hill and starts seamlessly shooting arrows at their opponents. Although nobody wants to exactly _kill_ anyone, when the first Grindler attempts to send a Killing Curse in Theseus’s general direction, Sophia is infuriated, spins around, and with no preamble hits him with an enchanted arrow squarely in the chest.

Another hooded man comes at them and Transfigures a nearby stick into a halberd, charging straight at the Squibs, and the non-magical fighting commences. Juliet cringes when she's forced to plunge a sword into someone’s shoulder and apologizes (Grace later laughs about this, because it’s so typical of her persistently nice sister to _apologize_ in such dire circumstances) before hopping over their body to defend herself against another assailant, while further down the hill, where Wyverthwaite once stood, sparks fly and jets of light collide.

* * *

With very little effort, Lucille manages to escape — Gellert _really_ hasn't been trying with her imprisonment, and again she wonders what his intent is — for the Scamander Island battle, landing right in the midst of the fighting and immediately seeking out her assistant, whose white blond braid whips back and forth as she duels two islanders simultaneously. Watching, Lucille appreciates, admires, and resents the assassin’s skill as within the space of two seconds, Frida strikes both her opponents to the ground and leaps over the bodies to continue her rampage.

Nobody has noticed Lucille yet, and she would rather keep it that way.

_Coward._

It's true. At this point, all she wants is to speak to Tina, get her revenge, and move on. Which is much easier said than done.

Frida has her back turned for an instant when Tina appears out of nowhere and creeps up on her. Panicking, Lucille raises her wand and aims it at the Auror. But without hesitation, Emilia Ollerton jumps in front of Tina, Frida runs away, and the jet of light from Lucille’s wand hits the receptionist in the chest.

Tina screams in horror; Lucille recoils in shock, frozen — this is not what she intended to do, she did not even intend to kill Tina, not yet, they still have an important conversation to have — as Theseus barrels out of nowhere and, roaring something unintelligible (it sounds like a string of profanities), begins dueling Lucille. She stumbles, caught off guard; one of his hexes almost hits her, but then Frida appears, grabs Lucille’s hand, and Disapparates.

“Why are you here?” the assassin asks urgently, grabbing Lucille’s shoulders the instant they land on the grass half a mile away. “I told you to stay —”

“It isn’t right,” Lucille cries shrilly, trembling. Nothing is right anymore. She’s in over her head, and she’s beginning to suspect that she _likes_ it.

Frida stays as calm as ever. “You want to fight?”

At this point, Lucille has no idea _what_ she wants. Her heart thumps wildly in her chest; her fingers quiver around her wand. She only knows that despite the accidental nature of her crime, she _enjoyed_ the power of killing that woman.

Her assistant is waiting for a response. “I will protect you either way,” she swears.

Lucille shuts her eyes for a long moment, watching her memories unfold, and remembers why she is fighting. Why Tina — and all that the Auror holds dear — still must pay the price. She takes a deep breath. “I do.”

Frida takes her hand. “Then come with me.”

But before Lucille can return to the battlefield, a hooded man swoops down out of nowhere and whisks her away.

* * *

Theseus sees blazing red as it hits him that Sophia’s mother is dead. Tina has hurriedly moved Emilia’s body to the side and gone back into the fray, but the war hero is rooted to the spot in mingled horror and fury. Staring down at the deceased receptionist, he flashes back to the first and last conversation they’d ever had, only hours before, when everyone else was preparing in the tent.

 

> _“Are you Theseus?” Emilia asks, smiling._
> 
> _He feels uncharacteristically shy. “At your service,” he replies, shaking her hand._
> 
> _“Thank you,” Emilia says._
> 
> _“What?”_
> 
> _She smiles wider. “For keeping Sophia safe.”_
> 
> _“Oh, that is — Newton really —”_
> 
> _“Yes, I have no doubt now that Newt would take a bullet for my daughter. But you would take a Killing Curse.” Her eyes are similar to Sophia’s — annoyingly, disconcertingly shrewd._
> 
> _“I do not know what you are implying,” Theseus lies._
> 
> _Emilia doesn’t buy it, and instead says simply, “Be careful with her.”_
> 
> _“I would never be anything but,” he pledges. It’s true. He is a man with integrity, and his feelings for Sophia (which he has given up on convincing himself are wholly platonic) make him all the more dedicated. Whether or not she wants it, he will always protect her._
> 
> _The receptionist scrutinizes him. Then, “She is more fragile than even she would like to believe. It is something that Newt, much as he loves her, will never be able to understand.”_
> 
> _Theseus frowns: Newt understands everything about Sophia, and vice versa. “What do you mean?”_
> 
> _Emilia sighs. “She is wise beyond her years. But sometimes she’s just a little, confused girl who feels like she ought to hide out and cope with her suffering alone. And when she’s like that, she thinks she is somehow less lovable. Those are the times when she needs the most love.”_
> 
> “I _love her,” Theseus says without thinking. He cringes, horrified, but Emilia stops him with a kind, slightly amused smile._
> 
> _“Then look after her,” she responds simply. “She needs someone like that. Who, in whatever capacity, will never leave even if_ she _tries to.”_
> 
> _Sophia bounds over before Theseus can properly assemble the million thoughts racing through his head. “We need you, Mom,” she announces brightly, beaming at them together. “I’ll see you in a sec.” With that, she skips off._
> 
> _“Just don’t tell George,” are Emilia’s final words to Theseus. She winks, a carbon copy of her daughter, and they part ways._

The confession, heretofore never vocalized, had come out of his mouth naturally, as though Emilia possessed whatever it is that makes Sophia so unexpectedly approachable. There’s a warmth, a certain aura that makes a person want to confide in both women. And now one of them is gone.

 _But sometimes she’s just a little, confused girl who feels like she ought to hide out and cope with her suffering alone._ It’s almost as though Emilia knew what was to come.

Theseus is overwhelmed with gratitude for the precious tip, and resolves to follow it if it kills him. He wishes, more than anything, that it was his mother instead — not because he wishes Elsie dead, but because the idea of Sophia having to contend with this loss is abhorrent — and finds himself clutching Emilia’s hand, head bowed, as he whispers his promise to her. He _will_ look after her daughter, as best as he can, and for as long as he lives. Which could be a very short length of time, depending on how things go in the coming minutes.

“Theseus!” Tina yells just in time; the battle has not ended yet. Right. He’s a bloody war hero, after all.

Theseus closes Emilia’s eyes gently and returns to the battle.

_I love her._

* * *

Meanwhile, a fair number of Grindlers have been successfully taken down by weapons; Theseus is nowhere to be found, so Sophia, Queenie, and Andy do their best to herd the Squibs away from the battlefield, still armed but in much more danger than before.

Once they’ve been hastily secured behind a clumsy barricade, Sophia Apparates into the thick of it, using her height to her advantage as she stays low and avoids being hit by a number of hexes and curses flying above her head. But then an islander backs up into her, and her wand falls out of her hand, rolling a few feet away. In the same moment Frida points her wand at Sophia, who turns white as it hits her that she won’t be able to reach her own in time. The assassin tries to jinx her — Sophia throws herself to the side and it misses — then yells, _“Crucio!”_

Sophia ducks, missing the curse by a hair, but now she's pressed against a charred wall, shaking and completely wandless. Voices yell and bodies thump around them. Then, as Frida goes to raise her wand again, Newt comes hurtling out of nowhere and bellows, “NOT MY SISTER, YOU BITCH!”

Frida spins around, snarling, and aims at him, but before she can do anything he slashes his wand savagely through the air and she crumples to the ground. Newt glances around quickly, then Summons Sophia’s wand and runs over to her.

“Are you alright?” he asks, hugging her urgently.

“Yep,” she says weakly, taking her wand back. “You called me your —”

“WATCH OUT!” Tina cries from the periphery. A massive cement block from a collapsed building flies through the air, aiming for the two of them. Sophia jumps out of the way, but it hits Newt hard and he’s knocked flat on his stomach.

Sophia screams something unintelligible. The man responsible smirks, wand held aloft, and moves to scarper. The fuming Auror whose boyfriend he just attacked, however, is not about to let him escape.

“Soph! Save Newt!” Tina shouts, and begins fiercely dueling the Grindler.

Terrified, Sophia hastily levitates the cement block off of Newt. He’s still conscious, thankfully, but wheezing in pain as he rolls over onto his back, swallowing big gulps of air.

“Are you okay? Nothing’s broken?” she asks, handing him his wand.

Before he can reply, a crush of people come pouring in from all sides, good and bad guys alike. Tina is still viciously battling the Grindler as Newt struggles to his feet, clutching at his side. Chaos has erupted around them as curses fly through the air, in closer and closer proximity until it’s difficult to tell who’s on which team.

“Come on, Newt,” Sophia cries, realizing that he’s still having trouble breathing and can barely keep a proper grip on his wand.

“I really must stop getting injured,” he says with a grimace. “It’s very bad form.”

Sophia casts around desperately and catches sight of Tina, who’s holding her own against the Grindler. Then her line of sight falls on a small, crumbling stone wall in the distance.

Tina said to save Newt. And so, much as she does not want to abandon her friends and family now, Sophia grabs him by the elbow and Disapparates.

* * *

They land on the grass, far enough away that the battle cries are a distant sound.

“You okay?” she asks. Newt is leaning against the wall, chest heaving.

“My lungs — erm — don’t seem too fond of being crushed like that.”

“TELL ME WHAT TO DO!” Sophia cries in fear as he slides to the ground.

“They’re — Tina knows the spells, they’re healing spells, shouldn’t be too hard —”

“I’m not Tina! I don’t know the spells!”

He winces. “Ah. We might have a bit of a problem, then.”

“Are you — what’s wrong?” That's the terrible thing about magic: it's easy to forget, sometimes, that at the end of the day their bodies are all human. Avada Kedavra is far from the only way to die; wizards are ultimately as susceptible to bodily harm as No-Majs. Sophia thinks of Juliet, who had been learning No-Maj medicine, and realizes how handy that must be in a situation where she has a wand but no idea what to do with it.

“I can’t quite breathe,” Newt continues, coughing. When he brings a hand up to wipe his mouth, his fingers come away spotted with blood.

Sophia wrings her hands, heart thrashing against her chest in pure panic. “Oh, f —”

There’s a crack, and suddenly Tina materializes.

“Tina!” Sophia gasps.

The Auror barely acknowledges her and instead kneels next to Newt. She grips his chin, forcing him to make eye contact. “Hello,” he says unconvincingly, with a pained sort of smile.

“Do you know the spells?” Sophia asks loudly. “The spells, the Healing spells, he said you knew them —”

Tina nods and purposefully runs her hands over her boyfriend’s abdomen. “Pulmonary contusion,” she says more to herself than anybody else, then mutters, “Hopefully. Come on,” she urges Newt into a standing position. Then she points her wand at his ribcage, murmuring a series of incantations. He grunts, as though someone’s punched him right in the stomach, and resumes breathing normally. Color returns to his face as Sophia nearly cries in relief.

“Thank you for defending my honor, by the way,” an embarrassed Newt says to the ground, clearing his throat. “That was — mmph!”

Tina has flung herself at him, kissing him with the desperation everyone seems to feel. “Stay safe,” she whispers when she pulls away.

“No, he’s fighting, aren’t you, Newt?” Sophia says in alarm.

Tina shakes her head. “He’s too weak. Soph, I need to tell you something —”

Newt straightens indignantly. “I’m not too weak!”

There’s a loud, shrill scream from the bottom of the hill; before Tina can finish delivering the news to a distraught Sophia, she leaves. Without hesitation, Newt Disapparates after her, and, cursing the day she got involved with these people, Sophia follows suit.

* * *

Lucille is dropped unceremoniously back in Gellert’s headquarters.

“He doesn't want you to fight,” the henchman says.

“I want to,” Lucille says, sounding like a petulant child. Which is mostly what Gellert knows her as, anyway.

“Stay,” the henchman says firmly. Then he Disarms her, locks the door from the outside, and leaves.

What is Gellert _doing?_ Lucille wonders, flummoxed. He must be trying to keep her safe, he _must,_ and perhaps that means something. Perhaps there is another way to go about this...

But she _liked_ killing the receptionist. It was accidental, it was terrifying, but it was exhilarating. All her life, she has been repressed and abused and powerless. Now, she is finally getting the chance to stand up, show everyone that she is not weak or subordinate but that she can get what she wants — that she can murder. She couldn’t murder the man who broke her, all those years ago, and given the chance she would finish what he started in an instant.

Lucille finds herself strangely patient as she sits down in the center of the room and runs a finger across the brim of her blue cloche hat. The memories are still inside her mokeskin pouch, safely concealed, should Gellert attempt his little memory-stealing trick again. She has a feeling he won't, that it was a desperate bid on his behalf, and besides, if he digs deep enough, she knows for a fact that he has his own, however distant.

There's a decent chance that the others will win. Tina, Newt, Theseus, Seraphina — they're all highly talented. When she left, things didn't look too promising. She should care, because she’s aligned on the losing team, but she can’t.

If Scamander Island’s army does triumph, then it's on Lucille to make sure that Tina doesn't go anywhere. That she finally gains the Auror’s full attention, and, while everyone revels in the victory, Tina meets her unhappy demise.

Lucille sits down on the floor, knees tucked up to her chest, and waits.

* * *

Sophia manages to yank Newt over to the fringes of the battlefield, where Tina Apparates a moment later after striking down yet another Grindler. Standing akimbo, she looks furious at her boyfriend.

“You’re too weak, Newt,” she shouts above the clamor of fighting.

“I’m fine,” Newt insists, his blood pumping and roaring in his ears. “There aren’t very many Grindlers left, we’ve almost won anyhow.”

“So you can stay here,” Sophia puts in.

“No, so I can fight,” he says firmly.

“Newt —” Tina protests.

He waves his wand; a protection spell falls over the two women. “Both of you, stay here.”

“You know we _so_ aren't staying here,” Sophia says, crossing her arms.

“Newt!” Tina yells.

“Mercy Lewis, he’s gone insane!” Sophia proclaims, and he’s gone.

He Apparates so forcefully that his knees hit grass, only a few hundred feet from the fighting, and without thinking twice he runs headfirst into the fray, shoving his way between people to find Grindlers who may be planning to launch a surprise attack on preoccupied islanders.

The thing is, Newt is a very talented wizard; his unassuming, awkward mien always sold him rather short. Although the last time he had a proper duel was with Phillip, he somehow feels significantly stronger now — seeing Sophia’s near miss seriously rattled him, if he’s being honest — and as such quickly knocks out two Grindlers flying at him.

These people have killed his creatures. They have killed people he cared about. They have threatened the love of his life. _They are not going to get away with it._

He fights now for Tina, for Sophia, for Theseus, and for his mum — for his family and the friends he never thought he would have.

He fights for the innocent hippogriffs who have been murdered, the creatures they stole from him, exploited, and killed.

He fights for the Muggles who had done nothing and received torture and death sentences in return.

He fights for _love,_ as Dumbledore had once instructed him to. It’s trite and silly and potentially pointless, but he does it.

He fights.

* * *

Jacob watches with Juliet from the distance. They're both scared out of their minds for their loved ones and not really sure how to interact with one another. Queenie and Andy had dumped them here with the Squibs, exchanged a flurry of kisses and well wishes and unconvincing reassurances with their significant others, and left. Only the knowledge that it would get in the way and worsen matters kept this particular Squib and No-Maj from following.

Jacob has to admit, in the beginning he was a little put off by Juliet and Andy's marriage. He doesn't mind, exactly; he _was_ raised in the non-magical world, after all, and it _is_ only 1927. But being with Queenie has, nauseating as it sounds, opened his mind and his heart. (Being with Queenie has made him a better man in about a thousand ways, in fact.) Now, Jacob just envies the ring on the Squib’s finger.

“Isn't it terrible?” Juliet asks desperately beside him. “When you love them —”

Jacob nods. He knows — oh, how he knows. He's gone through the war; he can handle the threats of the non-magical world. But being part of this, with all their spells and secrets and everything so fancy and ten times more dangerous — and seeing the love of his life be part of that, go racing selflessly into the fray... he wishes sometimes that they _had_ run away together.

But no. Everything happened just as it should have. Queenie will be fine, and he has never been prouder.

“Your sister, she's fighting too, huh?” Jacob says, gazing out at the battlefield, where sparks of light dance around frenetically.

Juliet bites her lip. “Her too.”

Glimpsing her tortured face (his can't be much better), Jacob feels instantly guilty. The last thing the poor girl needed was the handy reminder that both her wife _and_ twin are fighting for their lives. “I’m sorry, doll,” he apologizes gruffly.

Juliet bites her lip and doesn’t say anything, because what is there to say? Wordlessly, she reaches over and grips Jacob’s hand, and together they wait for the storm to pass.

* * *

Back on the battlefield, Seraphina is caught in a three-way duel, eyes glinting as she hits a woman, who falls to the ground, and then rounds on the other two men.

“Hey sis, watch out!” Ewan shouts; a Grindler is aiming at his sister, about to fire as she focuses on dueling someone else. Ewan shoves Seraphina out of the way just as the man behind her points his wand; there’s a flash of light, and Ewan collapses and goes still.

“EWAN!” Seraphina screams. Around them everyone is yelling and stampeding. Shrieks ring out as bodies hit the ground, but it's all in slow motion, gut-wrenchingly surreal. Seraphina can only stare at her brother, unable to process the horror of what’s just happened.

But she did not become president of MACUSA to stand passively in the middle of a battlefield. If for no other reason than to fulfill the potential her twin brother relentlessly reassured her she had, she tears herself away. He believed in her as nobody else ever did; he was at her side unerringly as she fought her way to the top, always there with an endless supply of Gigglewater and words of encouragement. He honestly thought she could change — even save — the world.

 _Come on, sis,_ he’d say, rolling his eyes good-naturedly as he sat atop her desk, knocking over inkwells and not giving an ounce of consideration to the Very Important Paperwork she had to fill out. _We all know you’re gonna save the world. Stop moping around._

Seraphina isn’t sure how she’s supposed to function without her stupidly altruistic twin, but she won’t get a chance to find out if she doesn’t _do something._ And so, rage now imbibing her with unworldly strength, she spins around and punches the man she was dueling right in the head before he can so much as think of an incantation. He falls to the floor, unconscious; she seizes his wand savagely and snaps it in half. Her outcry has attracted several more Grindlers, and soon she is trying to duel a ring of them and holding her own. However, anger can only do so much when it’s one against five. One Grindler goes down, the other four advance...

“YOU LEAVE HER ALONE!” Sophia suddenly shouts at them, racing to Seraphina’s side and dramatically skidding to a stop. “SHE’S THE DAMN PRESIDENT — hey, Seraphina!” She sports what looks like a broken nose, her clothes are torn, but her eyes are sparkling with her trademark energy and confidence.

Oh, Mercy. It occurs to Seraphina that she’s relatively certain she saw both George and Emilia Ollerton amongst the accumulating pile of bodies being watched over by the Squibs. But she can’t go there now. “He killed Ewan,” Seraphina says wretchedly.

Sophia is brandishing her wand at the four Grindlers, slicing through the air and dodging curses. “I know!” she yells to be heard. “But this is really kind of a team effort right now!”

Good lord, she's right. She’s right. She knows she’s right. Seraphina pulls herself together and focuses only on her singular goal: to win. To avenge the deaths of her Aurors — of her idiot twin brother. Using a combination of sheer physical force and wandwork, she overcomes one, two, three opponents. Sophia, for her part, is jumping over bodies, ducking just in time, and aiming spells at the Grindlers trying to gain on them.

“Sophia!” Newt exclaims from behind them. “What are you doing?!”

“Fighting, you boob!”

“You were supposed to be with Tina!” he cries in dismay, and expertly dodges an attack as he sprints towards her.

“Neither of us listen very well!” she replies. A Grindler creeping up catches her eye; she spins around and quickly Petrifies him. “Oh hey, it's your girlfriend!” she remarks. Indeed, a few feet away Tina has joined the fray, and is locked in a rapid fire duel with yet another Grindler.

“Tina!” Newt hollers, but of course the Auror doesn't listen.

“Just fight!” Sophia orders him. Aurors seem to be coming out on top, slowly (relatively slowly, given that all sense of time has vanished) but surely. “Now is _not_ the time to go all protective, honestly, it’s bordering on sexist — oh, come _on,”_ and she wheels round and karate kicks an assailant in the face.

“How did you get hurt?!” Newt does some sort of scissor-kick and a jet of blue light erupts from the tip of his wand, which successfully knocks out three Grindlers in a row. He looks as confused as everyone else as to where that particular move came from, but it was certainly effective.

“The second you left us we decided to take matters into our own hands!” Sophia explains, nearly tripping over a body as a Grindler elbows her, hard. “Can we maybe talk about this later?” she asks Newt, who’s rapidly turning ashy grey and sweating profusely and definitely doesn’t look much better than he did before. He doesn’t get a chance to respond before he goes on the defensive; Sophia spins around and begins dueling the guy who'd rudely elbowed her.

She’s young, an amateur. She doesn’t know that many spells. She never really even duelled. But somehow, it’s as though her wand is working in her favor as she performs a curse she never learned and the man running at her with murder in his eyes keels over. Theseus would probably gape at her in horror — where _is_ he, anyway? — but this is still almost fun. Making a difference in the world. Beating up the bad guys.

“Don’t do anything stupid!” Newt shouts at Tina, scrambling haphazardly to his feet but victorious when another group of Grindlers materializes. There has to be a limit, he thinks desperately. Eventually, Grindelwald _must_ run out of followers or else decide against losing his entire army.

“Great advice!” Tina yells back sarcastically, ducking four spells and rolling expertly underneath a charred bench to evade a sloppy attack. Newt is suddenly overwhelmed by pride and _fondness_ for this ridiculously strong, blindly risk-taking, absurdly talented woman, and the thought of her not making it is enough to stop him in his tracks.

“I would really rather —”

“Yeah, well this is your life now, so get used to it,” she says dryly. Before the Grindler behind her can aim, she wheels around and strikes him down.

Newt emerges with a bloody nose after a brief scuffle, mostly physical, with one of Grindelwald’s burliest henchmen (who doesn’t appear to even know what a wand is, and thus is quickly apprehended by the nimble magizoologist), and continues, “Perhaps we should —”

“Newt, we’re fighting whether you like it or not!” Tina shouts. There's a pause as both engage in duels, and although it's a close call they succeed, having stumbled backwards in the process so that they end up colliding with each other. She turns around in his arms for a split second — she flashes back to the first time he caught her in the Death Cell, that singular electric moment, and dearly wishes it was just them again — and then there's a cautionary cry and they jump to both sides just in time to avoid a giant boulder that's being commanded by a Grindler through the village streets in an attempt to crush or at least dissuade the fighters.

“Couldja maybe not have a domestic in the middle of a battle?” Sophia yells, and begins dueling a Grindler who can't be any older than she is. “It's really annoying, you know, we get to listen to you do that all the time as it is —”

An islander tumbles to the ground; Tina gets there first, elbows the killer smartly in the nose and Disarms him. “Newt started it,” she defends herself, panting.

Newt manages to wield off two Grindlers at once, using the same maneuver as he had with the executioners in the Death Cell, then objects in outrage.

“Well, you better get used to it, because this is what married life is like!” is all Tina has to contribute, before someone needing assistance in the distance catches her eye and she Disapparates.

“That was cute,” Sophia says as she sprints by Newt, who is momentarily shocked at what his girlfriend may have just implied, “but we _seriously_ could use some help here. And these aren’t exactly ideal circumstances to get down on one knee, just in case you were planning on whipping out that ring —”

“What ring?” Tina yells. Newt is ready to hex Sophia, but the guys trying to kill them all take precedence.

Theseus comes over to Sophia, also looking worse for wear, and exchanges somber, pained looks with Tina. “Sophie,” he starts, but then another wave of Grindelwald’s army — one of the last, according to a panicked Grindler Theseus quickly sends soaring through the air — appear, and Sophia scampers off to start fighting once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sincerely sorry for any emotional pain I just caused, though to be fair I've been apologizing from the start. Remember, JKR killed Dobby and Fred. And Dumbledore. So. *tries to get away with literal murder*
> 
> Also, saw some posts drifting around on Tumblr complaining about people underselling Tina's abilities, pointing out that she dueled Grindelwald to the point where he had to resort to dirty tactics, so hopefully this will placate those particular complainers. Same goes for Newt, who at this point is pretty badass himself despite having a spot of bad luck.
> 
> But um at least there's lots of room for angsty Sopheus comfort, right? And we won't even talk about Ewan. I got a bit misty-eyed writing that sequence too.
> 
> Next chapter will see the end of the battle and the beginning of Tina and Lucille's confrontation. It's about 80% written, without taking into account the amount that I'll probably end up tweaking and adding/deleting.
> 
> Incidentally, I've been working on AUs, and I'm kinda digging them, so you should check those out. They're just chilling in my works.


	86. I feel so bad, thinking 'bout the good time that I once have had

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the battle ends, and Tina and Lucille finally have a chat. 
> 
> Barely one heartbeat later, the lethifolds come rushing towards the survivors and the dementors plummet onto the island and there is a united, echoing cry of “Expecto Patronum!”
> 
> Silvery animals burst from the end of countless wands and rush at the mass of darkness, merging together into a glorious spinning drove of silver light headed unerringly towards their target. The creatures scatter within seconds, scalded by the hope and happiness of these people, who somehow, despite all the darkness and death in the world, managed to come together and turn on the light.
> 
> Chapter title from “How Long, How Long Blues” by Leroy Carr and Scrapper Blackwell (1928)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The paragraph about educated people believing in this totally deluded guy is lowkey throwing shade at a certain president. Just saying.
> 
> There’s another reveal/plot twist (you may all be anticipating it) at the end of this chapter. Next chapter will leap directly back into Lucille’s memories. Chapter 90 may be the last chapter, or even sooner than that.

The field is finally thinning out when Queenie and Tina run straight into one another. There’s a long pause in which both sisters have a silent exchange of unspoken words and unarticulated emotion, and Queenie embraces Tina, and for a split second it's just the two of them together again, clinging onto each other in the chaos that's erupted around them. But then reality hits and Poppy comes racing over, telling Tina that the boys need backup and asking Queenie to help her with the bodies.

Frida is running rampant somewhere: Tina is determined to find her, but there are Grindlers viciously fighting still, and some of them are good. Auror-good. In fact, Tina is pretty sure she recognizes some ex-Aurors, or at least Auror trainees who later dropped out.

What Tina finds the most disturbing is the fact that so many intelligent witches and wizards genuinely believe in Grindelwald’s cause. The population of his followers who are immature, simple, violent, or otherwise unlikely to fight for the actual greater good comes as no surprise. But there are top students, decorated government employees, and people whom Tina would otherwise respect greatly, all hanging onto and believing his every word. Those are the ones to look out for: they are the ones now, who are still fighting, who know all the tricks and who have thoughtful, bona fide reasons for such indiscriminate killing.

Sophia, meanwhile, is dueling valiantly. It should come as no surprise that even in battle, she brings her own _very_ unique charm and method. Somehow — nobody knows how — she manages to appear totally distracted yet never fails to get the job done perfectly, as exemplified in her ability to shout out sarcastic asides at the Grindlers and at Newt and Tina while simultaneously fighting literally for her own life. At the moment, she's sprinting around the area looking for weak links and Grindlers to catch off guard.

“Tee!” she yells, waving at her friend. Then, “Oops,” as the Grindler she’d impressively restrained in a headlock takes advantage of her lapse in attention to swing at her. Without thinking, she socks him right in the face, then grabs his wand and hurls it out of sight. “Yikes.” She pats him clumsily on the head. “Sorry, pal."

“Good one, Soph,” Serenity says with a tinge of amusement that would be more noticeable if she wasn’t so exhausted. “Looks like their numbers are decreasing.”

“I don't know, I have no idea who's dead now,” Sophia says somewhat grimly, running a hand through her now very tousled, very grimy hair.

Serenity pales. “Soph, I thought I saw your dad.”

“Yeah, he's fighting too,” Sophia says, puffing up with pride. “He can be a real sap, but you know, I'm kinda proud of him now.”

“No, I was passing the bodies —”

“Watch it,” Sophia says cheerfully, spinning around to Petrify the Grindler who'd been attempting to gain on them, and hurtles back into the thick of it again, leaving Serenity standing momentarily alone with a look of immense distress.

A minute later, Tina catches Sophia en route to help Newt and Theseus on the other end of the village.

“Hey, Teenie!” Sophia says happily, wiping her nose and ignoring the blood still leaking out of it. “Have you seen my real mom? She's around here somewhere —”

“Soph,” Tina says miserably, already choking up, but before she can say any more, something catches Sophia's eye.

“Jeepers!” she yells, and shoves Tina to the ground as a chunk of rock flies overhead. “Good grief, they like to use dirty tactics, huh. I guess anything past Levitating is really out of their realm, not the smartest group — you okay?” She pats herself down. “Am I bleeding or something?”

“Oh, Sophie,” Tina says quietly, and reaches out to hug her.

“What are y —”

“Watch out!” Theseus all but tackles her to the ground.

“Hey, get off!” Sophia complains, jumping to her feet. She narrows her eyes at the war hero. “Why are you looking at me weird?”

“Sophie...”

“What is your _problem?”_ she asks in genuine frustration.

Theseus, apparently incapable of words, unexpectedly tugs her into his arms. She struggles at first, but something about his behavior and tone of voice is frighteningly off-putting. He won't look her in the eye, just holds onto _her,_ which is really stupid anyway given the height difference. Ten seconds pass and he still doesn't let go; Sophia is becoming concerned.

“Okay, get off of me,” she orders, heart pounding in some sort of visceral, inexplicable fear. She and Theseus have a staring contest for a brief moment before she throws her hands in the air and walks away. She can feel his eyes on her and shakes off the feeling that something is _seriously_ not right.

As she steps over bodies, wading her way to where the fighting is most concentrated, it hits Sophia that people are _dead._ Her experiences with death have been minimal until now, and she doesn’t think she’s ever exactly grieved. She isn’t the grieving type, really. But Paulina Woodcroft is lying peacefully in a patch of grass, a number of Emilia’s old MACUSA friends are dead as well, and Sophia wonders how she’ll ever break the news to her mom. Who _should_ be showing up soon — she’s probably still helping Seraphina.

Of course, this epic battle doesn’t wind down like normal battles do, but rather becomes something of the Newt and Tina show (“Not _again,”_ Sophia groans, catching her breath and joining the circle of onlookers). To be fair, the Grindlers have personally offended the couple the most, so it's only fitting that they give a full reprise of their performance in 1926.

“Show-off,” Sophia complains as she watches them duel simultaneously. She contemplates cheering on the other team, just to annoy Newt, but even _she_ has tact and is Mature enough to know that now is probably not the best of times to play that card.

Jacob and Juliet reunite with their spouses now, and the remaining Squibs join the straggling line. Queenie clutches her fiancé, buries her face in his neck, and he holds her, rubs a hand soothingly across her back, as utterly stunned and helpless as the others.

Everywhere, people are bleeding, wheezing, coughing, crying, and screaming. But soon enough every Grindler is down (dead or otherwise incapacitated) except for one: Modoc Adler, a deceptively mousy, regular looking man — the one who had sent the cement block that crushed Newt’s lungs, and who is known to have direct ties to Lucille Wadcock.

There’s silence as Aurors and islanders and government employees look at each other, unsure what to do about the straggler. “Let me,” Tina says, when Newt moves to step forward. She pushes to the front, where Modoc’s eyes are flashing a challenge.

“You may have gotten them,” he says, pointing to the bodies around them. “But you ain’t got me.”

“You tried to kill Newt,” Tina says in a hard voice. Had that block hit him anywhere else, or had his landing not been so soft, Newt would be _gone,_ and she would have had absolutely no qualms killing every single person who’d contributed to his death. Even though Modoc was blessedly unsuccessful — just like everyone else so far — attempting to do so is enough to condemn the man as a murderer in her books. Enough to take _action._

“He ain’t much help to us anymore,” Modoc taunts, grinning.

“If you had killed him —” Tina begins menacingly, and now she eyes Modoc with an uncharacteristic sense of purpose.

“Oh, that weren’t me,” the man says just as Frida materializes.

“That was me,” she informs Tina coolly, and aims her wand at Modoc; there's a telltale green flash of light and he falls to the ground. “Now,” she turns to Tina, “do you _really_ want to kill me?”

“You killed Graham,” Tina realizes with mounting rage. “You killed his mom. Who else did you kill?”

“A great number of your friends,” Frida replies, gesturing to the bodies strewn around them with the hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “Lucille always did like giving me the _personal_ assignments.”

Tina towers over the assassin, but Frida is an imposing presence, all dangerous steel-blue eyes and muscle, as she stands her ground.

“I believe I also tried to torture your boyfriend’s sister,” her gaze flits to Sophia; Newt pushes his assistant slightly behind him, shielding her as he glares at Frida. “And I fully intend to see Lucille’s quest through if it is the last thing I do. So go ahead, Miss Goldstein, and do your worst before I beat you to it.”

Tina hesitates.

Frida nods. “I thought as much.”

“I won’t kill you,” Tina says vehemently, “But —”

“I’ll kill you.”

A tall, burly man strides into the center of the circle. He looks just like —

“Andrew Woodcroft. Yeah, Graham was my brother,” he tells Tina gruffly. “We didn’t have a great relationship, we barely talked in the end, but I came back.”

Frida is gazing at him impassively. Andrew pushes Tina to the side now and steps up. _He_ certainly intimidates the petite assassin, and the look in his eyes is the look of a murderer. Tina briefly has an image of Graham had he gone dark. This, she’s pretty sure, is what it would have looked like.

“You killed my brother. And my mother.”

“I did.” Frida shrugs. Both are holding their wands at the ready, waiting for the other to make a move. A tense silence stretches between them; then Frida shouts, _“Crucio!”_

Andrew jumps to the side just in time. Before the assassin can collect herself, he seizes her by the neck, drags her towards him, and presses the tip of his wand to her throat. “Tit for tat,” he rumbles into her ear.

“Tina,” Frida says. Her eyes are still cold, but something deep down looks like it’s drowning. There’s the slightest tremor in her voice; it’s enough for Tina to stop Graham’s brother and walk over.

“What?” she asks the woman stonily.

Frida’s expression is pleading, all of her defenses fallen away. “Save Lucille,” she whispers.

“What?” Tina is shocked. To even  _consider_ asking her to save the very woman who's been trying to kill her for months now...

The assassin swallows. “Take my memories. You’ll understand. Please.”

“I…”

“Take them,” Frida begs. “Take them, and tell her what I never did.” She’s voluntarily dropped her wand on the ground now, evidently prepared to die, but gestures to Tina’s. “Please.”

Tina steps forward and conjures a vial. Then she touches Frida’s temple with her wand and slowly extracts a silvery thread of memories.

“Thank you,” Frida whispers, holding Tina's gaze for a long moment before meeting Andrew’s eyes. “Kill me,” she says simply. “I killed the only family you had. Now you kill me.”

Graham’s brother sets his jaw. “I will,” he says in a low voice, and she falls to the ground, still. The assassin looks peaceful, eyes closed, head pillowed by long waves of white-blond hair, and Andrew does not seem fazed. In fact, as he kicks her body to the side, something like peace has settled over his features. Tina thinks of Lucille, who is so convinced that killing Tina will somehow solve everything. What if it will?

“Did we just...?” Sophia asks in astonishment.

It seems too good to be true: had they really defeated Grindelwald’s army? They have no way of knowing if those were all of them, and the Grindlers who were only unconscious or cursed may soon come to their senses. It's still enough to celebrate, if for a single shining moment before they inevitably have to get down to unpleasant business.

But then Grindelwald plays his last card. A horde of dementors start to descend, coming down from the sky and aiming for the group of survivors. And it’s only a moment before lethifolds begin gliding eerily over the fringes of the island as well.

“Nice touch,” Sophia comments. “Bet you’re glad to see them again, huh?” She elbows Newt, who does not look amused.

“Dementors,” Seraphina breathes.

“Yes, Seraphina, those _are_ dementors,” Sophia just _has_ to say. "Honestly, I was kinda doubting the leadership of my country, but now that I know our president knows what dementors are — ow!" Newt hits her; she glares at him.

“Well, shall we give them everything we’ve got?” Elsie asks, speaking up for the first time in awhile, and she is deeply humbled to see how her people still regard her with respect, regard her like she’s their leader, no matter how many times and ways she may have failed them.

Sophia looks up at Theseus despite his bizarre behavior; he takes her hand, interlacing their fingers, and nods. Beside them, Newt wraps his arm snug around Tina’s waist and she leans into his side, waiting. Seraphina stands tall in the middle. Elsie holds back tears as it hits her that in this moment, she has no one to hold onto.

Amongst the survivors clustered around the group of six are a crestfallen David, a finally vulnerable Ignotus (Sophia pokes Theseus and, delighted, jerks her head at the man’s suddenly human expression), a surprisingly fearsome Poppy (who has just killed three men), and a grim Lacy still trembling from the loss of her daughter and the trauma of everything that’s just transpired. Which is about where everyone else is at. Picking up the pieces of this island will no doubt be a lot of work, but there are no better, more able, or more devoted people to do so than the ones standing in reverent silence right now.

In one movement, every single survivor holds their wand aloft. Although they only have seconds — although this all took place in less than an hour — time stretches out to what feels like an eternity as the Dementors descend. Sophia squeezes Theseus’s hand, feeling the inexplicable need to cling onto someone and not liking it one bit.

Seraphina shuts her eyes for a moment to steady herself for the incoming attack. This battle was more agonizing than anything she has ever undergone, but now she fights past her pain to bring back childhood memories of Ewan. He teased her mercilessly, he hugged her when she cried, and once they were old enough he was always on call with a joke and a bottle of Gigglewater in hand. She never had many friends, and the idea of romance was laughable. She _always_ had her brother. However, Seraphina knows that if he were able to be here, Ewan would no doubt be telling her that 1. she can do this, and 2. stop moping around and learn to relax. She resolves to do just that.

Unspeakably grateful for the beautiful woman beside him — grateful that she's still alive and grateful for her general existence — Newt flashes back to their infamous water fight and the way Tina _looked_ at him and _kissed_ him and how happy, how brilliantly, ridiculously happy he had been in the moment. If he had to pinpoint an instant in time when he knew without a doubt that he was in love, that would be it. And if that isn't enough to ward off a pack of lethal, soul-sucking beasts, he doesn't know what is.

Next to him, Tina recalls, with painful nostalgia, when Newt saved her life from the death potion in 1926 — when he swore he would catch her and did, when he took her hand so naturally she knew that this wasn't just any regular guy. There have been a million other memories she could have chosen to fuel her patronus, most of them involving her eccentric magizoologist, but truth be told that was the first time she dared to hope when the idea of hope and happiness had long been cast away as a mere possibility. That was the first time everything changed.

Sophia, despite being a generally cheerful person, struggles to find a happy memory. Something, that same inexplicable visceral fear, is getting in the way. Panicking — the darkness is moving closer — she takes a deep breath and tries to bring to mind her entire time on this magical, wonderful island. She’s gotten more sense of family in her short stint here than she has her entire life, and she's relished every minute.

But that isn’t enough, is it.

Unbidden, her mind goes to the war hero at her side, because the fact of the matter is that he's her best friend. She's never exactly _had_ one, but nobody makes her laugh like he does, nobody puts up with her moodiness and attitude and occasional stupidity like he does, nobody makes her feel — well, that's just unnecessary. But happiness is happiness, and far be it from her to tamp it down while about to be attacked by this many soul-sucking evil incarnates.

Theseus, still clasping Sophia's hand, thinks automatically about the war, about his first love: excruciating as they can be, those thoughts have always served as his unfailing ammunition against these creatures. But then, just as his memories turn to pain, they're (rather unsurprisingly) replaced by those of his best friend — his ridiculously short, painfully outspoken, obnoxiously clever, inconveniently beautiful best friend. It's taken him years to recover from the war, to find some semblance of happiness. But into his life bounded this slightly insane firecracker of a woman, turning his world completely upside down. _Replacing_ his world, really. So, if anything or anyone is going to beat the dementors, it's Sophia. Regardless of how she may or may not feel about him.

Barely one heartbeat later, the lethifolds come rushing towards the survivors and the dementors plummet onto the island and there is a united, echoing cry of _“Expecto Patronum!”_

Silvery animals burst from the end of countless wands and rush at the mass of darkness. Seraphina’s panther is joined by Newt’s basset hound and Tina’s stallion. Sophia’s raven and Theseus’s lion follow; then Elsie’s border collie, Poppy’s sheep, David’s brown bear, Lacy’s otter, Ignotus’s lizard, Queenie’s koala, and all the rest of the survivors merge together into a glorious spinning drove of silver light headed unerringly towards their target.

Both the dementors and lethifolds are blinded by the sheer force of these corporeal figures, each one brighter and more vibrant than the last. The creatures scatter within seconds, scalded by the hope and happiness of these people, who somehow, despite all the darkness and death in the world, managed to come together and turn on the light.

In the now worshipful hush of near-daybreak, a haze of magic and energy crackles frenetically.

Nobody says anything until Sophia, as always, breaks the silence. “Well, that was a real whoopee!” she proclaims jubilantly. Theseus laughs, Newt snorts, Tina smiles, and everyone starts hugging.

But there is still work to be done before the island can be fixed — before anything can be fixed. Just because they defeated Grindelwald this time around doesn't mean he won't come back with another army ten times stronger, or that the world is ever going to be safe from his vices. Bodies are strewn all over the ground: husbands and wives, fathers and mothers, sons and daughters. There are deaths to mark down in family trees, people to notify.

Tina and Theseus make pained eye contact. Sophia’s busy embracing her friends, but soon enough she’s going to find out that her parents are gone for good, and...

“The memories,” Newt reminds Tina in an undertone. Much as he would like to keep her by his side, this is something he knows she must do alone.

“I need to find Lucille,” Tina says urgently.

Newt nods and interlaces their fingers. “You do.”

“You aren't gonna get mad at me?”

Newt smiles. “Getting mad at you never got me very far. This, however, did.” He leans forward and kisses her, and thinks that he probably should do this a lot more often, because it really is one of the better things he could do with his time.

“I love you,” Tina breathes against his lips.

“I suppose you're alright,” he says, quirking the corner of his mouth. She rolls her eyes, but before she can pull away he draws her determinedly back in. It's not as though she's putting up much of a fight.

“Okay, you still have the guest house for all of _that,”_ Sophia says loudly and distastefully from behind him.

“She's not wrong,” Newt says to Tina, but breaks away from his girlfriend to throw his arm around his sister. It’s official, according to Sophia, now that he _finally_ called her his _actual_ sister in front of someone trying to murder her. That's how these things work, apparently.

Tina gazes at Newt with something deep and raw and overpowering in her eyes. “No,” she agrees, because she fully intends to make great use of the guest house later, “but I do have a mission.”

“And you will do tremendously,” Newt reassures her. It's a fact, really. Everything she does is tremendous, in his humble and  _slightly_ biased opinion.

“Thanks,” she says softly. “Where do I —”

“Get her!” someone shouts, pointing. Lucille is back, and she has eyes only for Tina.

“Wait,” Tina says. She walks towards her adversary. “I have something for you.”

Lucille doesn't say a word, only saunters over to Tina, seizes her by the arm, and Disapparates.

* * *

As they spin round in circles, Tina doesn't know what she's doing, or where they're going, or _why_ she's even doing this, except that she needs to put an end to it once and for all. They touch down in what Tina assumes is Grindelwald’s headquarters and she spends a moment looking around the very unassuming room, quietly taking everything in, as Lucille watches shrewdly.

“Mordechai Goldstein,” Lucille says crisply, once Tina turns back to face her.

“Goldstein?”

Lucille’s lip curls. “Same last name as you, isn’t that _fascinating?”_

“I don’t...” Tina wracks her brain. There is no Mordechai in her family tree, she’s sure of it. They checked time and time again.

Lucille starts to pace. “Mordechai was friends with my great grandfather, John Edgecombe. Good friends. They served together as Aurors. And then Mordechai killed John. But perhaps you would be best off if I took you on a little walk down memory lane. _My_ memory lane.” Lucille gives a simpering smile and produces several vials of silvery liquid. Then she waves her wand and a stone basin appears.

“A Pensieve?” Tina murmurs. Frida must have known. The vial of the dead woman's memories burns a hole in Tina’s pocket, but she needs to see what Lucille wants to show her first.

“Join me,” Lucille says, flashing a dangerous grin. She grabs Tina’s arm in a vice-like grip, nails digging through her blouse and into her skin, and together they fall into the memory.

* * *

_1904_

It’s Christmas. Lucille’s great-grandfather, John Edgecombe — Papa — has been entertaining the children with silly puppet shows and books. Lucille adores her Papa; despite his old age, he acts exceptionally young (besides which, many wizards live much longer lives than Muggles, and extended lifespans run in the family). From the first day, John has been kinder and more nurturing to Lucille than anyone has ever been. Although her father doesn’t give her a second glance, and even her grandfather is tolerant at best, Lucille and John have been joined at the hip since she was born. He is her ally, her best friend, her everything.

The doorbell rings unexpectedly in the middle of a sock puppet show. Papa excuses himself, promising to return in time for Lucille to show off her new ballet moves before dinner. Beaming, she gazes at the Christmas tree, at the brand new doll house in the corner of the room, and flops happily onto the sofa. She’s wearing the much-too-large blue cloche hat Papa gave her this morning.

Ten minutes pass, and Papa still hasn’t returned. “Luce,” her mum says, “run along and tell Papa we’re almost ready for dinner.”

Lucille hops off the couch and skips towards the entryway. Before she can open the door, however, she hears voices. Angry voices.

It’s Mordechai Goldstein. The Goldsteins have been good family friends ever since John and Mordechai met at MACUSA. They had visited the Edgecombes’ home in Scotland just last week, but returned to the U.S. for Christmas Day. Apparently one of them had turned back.

“You are a _foolish_ man!” Mr. Goldstein shouts.

“It was an honest mistake,” John replies fiercely. “I did not realize —”

“You KNEW what you were doing! You KNEW I loved her!”

“It was the Imperius Curse, Mordechai! I was doing my job, they sent us to take everybody into custody. I didn’t have a choice —”

“You did. You! Did! You could have saved her, you could have —”

“She may have been your lover, but she was _killing_ people.” Papa’s voice is pleading and desperate, and Lucille shrinks, frightened. “Even though she was cursed, I could not make exceptions, they were all murderers —”

“YOU COULD HAVE SAVED HER!” Mordechai bellows.

“Mordechai, _please,”_ John begs. “I know you are hurting, I can help —”

“Help? _Help?_ By what, killing my brother next?”

“I didn’t KILL her!” John shouts. “She died in Ashencrest, I didn’t have control over that!”

“And I find out now, how many years later? THIRTY YEARS?”

“I was ashamed, Mordechai! I — I knew you would be angry, I did not want this to come between us —”

“And now it has! Do you understand, John, that I have not loved another _soul_ since you killed her? That nobody has loved _me?_ That I am an old man now, and unlike you I have no children, no grandchildren — my brother, of course, got all of that, but Amelie was the only _good_ thing in my life, and you could have EASILY saved her, brought her back to me, if you cared, if you gave a single _shit_ about me —”

“I could not! I couldn’t have done that, Mordechai, it’s the Auror’s code —”

“And I thought _our_ code, of friendship and brotherhood, ran deeper.”

It happens in a flash. Lucille is crouched over, trembling next to the door, as Papa finally loses it. “Perhaps there is a reason you have not been loved! Because you are —”

 _“Avada Kedavra!”_ Mordechai roars, and Lucille hears the thump of Papa’s body as it hits the ground.

 _NO!_ she screams in her head. _No no no no no..._

Shaking, Lucille peeks through the crack in the door, where her great-grandfather is lying prone and still on his favorite rug. She can’t wrap her head around it — he was _just_ there, just breathing, and all of a sudden his eyes are blank and his chest stops moving and Lucille is in shock, she doesn’t know what to do, because there’s no way he could be gone, he was just going to be back in a minute...

The door swings open; Mordechai steps out. Lucille quivers on the floor, terrified of what he might do to her. Instead of striking her down, however, Mordechai looks at her, looks back at Papa’s body, and the expression on his face is one of devastation, pain, and remorse. “I am sorry,” he says wretchedly, before Disapparating.

As soon as the man is gone, Lucille flies into the room and crouches down by Papa’s body. “Papa, please,” she begs him, crying. “Papa, wake up. Please. Papa, don’t — don’t _leave_ me, _Papa!”_ But he isn’t moving. He stares blankly up at her, a terrifying shell of a body.

Though she’s still young, Lucille understands death enough to know that this man will never again kiss her goodnight. He will not set her in his lap and read story after story. He will not hold her hand and treat her to ice cream at Puddingstone Place. He will do none of that, because he is dead, because Mordechai Goldstein killed him. Lucille is alone, desperate and alone, having lost her only ally, because Mordechai Goldstein killed him. Months from now, Lucille will be broken and destroyed because of the man her great-grandmother remarries — because Mordechai Goldstein killed her Papa. This realization plants a small seed in her mind: whatever is to come, she knows that Mordechai (all of the Goldsteins, for that matter) will be to blame.

Lucille is crying, rocking back and forth, when her second cousin — her only cousin; she doesn’t even _have_ any first cousins to care about her — races through the door, gathers her up in his arms. “What happened, Lu? Tell me,” he says, rubbing circles on her back.

“H-he k-killed Papa,” she sobs.

Her cousin stops, looks at her, and asks sharply, “Who did?”

“M-Mr. Goldstein.”

“Mordechai?”

“Y-yes, he —”

“What happened?” her cousin repeats, more urgent this time.

“Th-they got in a fight, I think it was an accident, they were so _angry,_ I didn’t… he killed him.” She covers her face with her hands and sobs.

“Where did he go?”

“H-he Disapparated —”

Her cousin does something with his wand, slicing it savagely through the air, and suddenly Mordechai is back, panting and writhing on the floor. He looks up and sees Lucille.

“Mr. Goldstein —” she starts to say, surprise momentarily quelling her tears.

Her cousin stops her. He kneels down, suddenly calm. “Lucy, I need you to close your eyes, alright?”

“What are you going to —”

 _“You!”_ Mordechai gasps, pointing at her cousin, who stands above him, black and dangerous.

“Lucy,” her cousin says tightly.

Crying, Lucille squeezes her eyes shut. _“Please,”_ she hears Mordechai beg, and then a body hits the ground. She chokes down a scream, clapping her hands over her ears, until she feels a warm, comforting hand on her back.

“It’s over, Lu. It’s over.”

When she gains the courage to open her eyes, the room is empty of both men. Her cousin hugs her, then pulls away and grips her by the arms, hard. He says in a dark voice, “This must be our secret, do you understand?”

“Y-yes,” she hiccups.

“You must promise not to tell _anyone.”_ His eyes flash danger, and for a moment she’s scared. Then he relaxes, hugs her again. “You’ve been so brave,” he says soothingly.

“W-what are you g-going to d-do?”

He pulls out his wand grimly. “I’m going to make everybody forget that Mordechai and Papa ever existed.”

“Why?”

“It is a terrible thing to kill another person. We cannot stain our family name, nor his.”

“But he was t-terribly brave…”

“We cannot risk anybody else knowing what just happened. We cannot let anybody pry.”

She wipes her nose, holding back tears.

“Look at me, Lucille.” Her cousin kneels down so they’re eye level. “This is _our_ secret. We will deal with it in due course, do you hear me? When you are old enough to understand…”

“Okay,” she says, feeling very small, and throws her arms around him again. He’s 14 years older than her, and she trusts him. She _needs_ him, now that her only other paternal figure is gone. He may be distant from time to time, but she hasn’t forgotten how gently he held her when she was younger, or the efforts he still makes to come back to visit her every year. “I don’t want to forget Papa.”

“We won’t. We won’t forget Papa _or_ Mr. Goldstein. And I promise you, we will make this right.”

“You killed Mr. Goldstein.”

His face goes stone-cold. “It was necessary.”

“W-why —”

“It doesn’t matter now. We _will_ make this right.”

Something in the way he says it makes her pause. “H-how will we make it right?” she asks cautiously.

His eyes have gone black again, that same expression of danger that sends shivers down her spine. “When you are old enough, you come to me, and I will help you fix what has happened,” he replies.

“Okay.” She watches, unsure, as he raises his wand and murmurs something over and over. “Nobody will remember Papa?”

“Nobody. Your great grandmother Marie will remarry, and everyone will believe that her new husband fathered your grandma and great-aunt Olga.”

“And Mr. Goldstein?”

“He has no children, only nieces and nephews. He will be forgotten, erased from the family tree and history just like John. Like Papa.”

“But his great grand-niece, the little one who visited... oh, do we _have_ to make her forget? She loved him so!”

“Porpentina? She is too young to remember anyway. Don’t be so soft, Lucille.” He sounds derisive, disparaging for a moment, before his voice goes calm and comforting again. “You have seen somebody being killed. You are much older now than you were before this happened.”

Lucille sniffles and looks down at her shoes.

“Come now,” he says briskly, and dabs away her tears with his thumbs. He flashes her his winsome smile and kisses her on the forehead. “Don’t look so glum; they must not suspect.”

“I’m trying.” She takes his hand, looks up at him.

He smiles again, this time more genuine, love and affection thawing his gaze, and squeezes her hand. “I love you, Luce.”

“I love you too, Gellert.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, now we know that Lucille and Gellert have been in cahoots since Lucille was 7, and we know why she’s resented the Goldsteins and wanted her revenge for so long. There are still puzzle pieces to fall into place, but hopefully that begins to answer some questions. (We still need to find out what the hell is in Frida’s memories!)
> 
> I have a complex family tree that I arguably wasted hours working on, just to establish Gellert and Lucille’s relationship. We know that Bathilda Bagshot is canonically Gellert’s great-aunt, making her Lucille’s grandmother and the two of them second cousins. 
> 
> Basically, they share great-grandparents — John and Marie Edgecombe (née Whippet). John and Marie had Bathilda Bagshot (née Edgecombe) and Olga Grindelwald (née Edgecombe). Thus the family tree splits there; Arina Bagshot, Bathilda’s daughter, married Eugene Wadcock and gave birth to Lucille, while Perseus Grindelwald, one of Olga’s two sons, had Gellert.
> 
> Apparently Katherine’s Patronus is a white stallion, border collies are kickass dogs and one of the smartest breeds, and it was between a dolphin and a koala for Queenie but koalas are repeatedly mentioned as being some of the best animal mothers, and I figured that would match her nurturing nature.


	87. For I have a sad story to tell you, it's a story that's never been told...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end.
> 
> Chapter title from “The Prisoner’s Song” by Vernon Dalhart (1924)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: Don't read the epilogue if you want to imagine the ending your way.
> 
> Watch out, it's dialogue-heavy!!
> 
> Also, the reason Lucille was able to easily get through the magic to leave out the potion was because she's related to Grindelwald and he used blood magic. I was waiting for someone to call me out on a plot hole for that :P but now we know.
> 
> Last chapter, so hold onto your hats, it's gonna be a wild ride... (including the lengthy end note, but come on, this fic has been a huge part of my life.
> 
> I sincerely hope you enjoy?

_ 1914 _

Lucille takes a deep breath before knocking on the door. The hut is large, black, moldy, and intimidating. But she trusts Gellert. She knows he won’t hurt her, and so she isn’t afraid.

She’s a little taken aback when he opens the door. Her cousin looks different from the last time she saw him. Older, more haggard, and the hardness in his voice and danger in his eyes are all the more palpable. That being said, she suspects she’s developing that same hardness and danger herself, and realizes she does not care.

“Lu!” he exclaims in genuine surprise.

“I’m ready,” Lucille says, setting her jaw.

“You… what?”

“To make it right. I’m 17 now. It’s been 10 years. I’m ready.”

He glances around nervously, then motions for Lucille to come inside; the interior of his house is less threatening than the outside would have you believe. She takes a seat at the kitchen table opposite Gellert.

“I still remember what happened. I’m still angry,” she says vehemently.

“Good, good.” He scrutinizes her. “Good…”

“So what can be done?”

“Luce… I do not know if you are prepared for this.”

She leans closer. “I know what you’re doing. I know you’re killing people. I know you’re killing Muggles. And I don’t mind.”

He looks surprised, then impressed.

“I don’t have the same reasons as you to do this. But I am  _ angry.  _ I want to try it. I want to kill.”

“We can discuss this,” he says…

* * *

_ 1919 _

Lucille runs into Albus Dumbledore at a sleazy magical speakeasy in Paris. Although he too is disguised — a good idea, given that he would otherwise stick out like a sore thumb — she would recognize him anywhere.

“Ah, Miss Wadcock,” he says pleasantly, coming over to her and taking a seat opposite. “How serendipitous that we should meet again.”

“You remember.” She isn’t surprised.

He inclines his head kindly at her. “You did not need to Obliviate many. I suppose that is one of the advantages to being rather less conspicuous.”

“And by ‘less conspicuous’ you mean ‘unpopular’?” she almost sneers, but adjusts her tone quickly. Dumbledore was never the enemy.

“If you choose to put it in as many words, then yes,” he replies, and steeples his fingers thoughtfully. “Now. Should I expect a truthful answer if I ask what brings you here?”

“Alcohol,” she answers honestly.

“A powerful motivator,” he acknowledges. “I was just meeting with a dear friend.” He hesitates, looking very sad all of a sudden. “Might I be so bold as to inquire after your cousin?”

She blanches. “How do you —”

“Surely you have heard of my connection to him.”

She’s heard whisperings, of course. But Gellert never mentioned it, and she never thought to ask. “What happened between you?”

“I regret to tell you that that particular story must remain untold.” Dumbledore really does sound apologetic. “You are in contact with him, I assume.”

“How much do you know?” Lucille blurts out, afraid. If he knows her secrets, and her plans…

“You are asking about John Edgecombe?”

She grips her glass so hard it almost shatters. “You know.”

“Gellert and I did have the occasional — what would one call it? —  _ heart-to-heart.  _ A peculiar term, but it makes sense if you consider it.” Dumbledore pauses, gazing into space contemplatively. “And I presume that you would not aid and abet his motions?”

“No,” she lies.

Dumbledore appears grave, but the corners of his eyes crinkle slightly. “Neither will you intervene. I do believe that unfortunately, much as Gellert cares for you, doing so might create severe and unforeseen consequences. But maintaining a familial bond is never a poor idea. Your secret is safe with me…”

* * *

_ 1923 _

They’re in a cave somewhere in Europe. Lucille paces back and forth in the dank interior, her heels almost slicing through bedrock as she tells Gellert everything that has happened, all the reasons why he must let her kill. He’s hemmed and hawed long enough; it’s time for her to make her case and, if she’s being honest, finally get this off her chest.

“After you cast the spell, great-grandmum Marie remarried. The man she remarried — Richard — was much younger than her, younger than my grandfather, and he was cruel to me. He abused me. He beat me, he told me I was nothing.  I bore it because I had no other choice, and of course he threatened me. He threatened to give Cal and Esmeralda the same treatment. And I could not let that happen. I was the eldest, I was the big sister.” Lucille points at herself with a trembling finger. “This went on until I went to school. It ruined me.

“I cried for Papa every  _ single _ day, do you understand?” she says desperately. “My own father ignored me. My new great-grandfather abused me. I had no uncles, and only younger siblings. You — I loved you, but you were long gone.

“I could have stood it if Papa had been there long enough for me to go to school. But Mordechai took that from me. He put me through years of pain. And he betrayed  _ all _ of us. We trusted him, remember? You  _ know _ we trusted him. The Goldsteins kept us safe. They were our closest friends. He and Papa had an unbreakable bond. And he  _ killed _ him, over a woman from decades ago.” 

Lucille pauses, panting slightly, and wipes her mouth, lipstick leaving a blood-red smear on the back of her hand like a crime scene. Gellert is looking at her and she can’t tell what’s going through his mind. Pity? Pain? Sympathy? Disgust? Anger? It’s all the same to her.

“Mordechai Goldstein ruined my life," she continues fiercely. "I have waited forever to get my revenge. The Goldstein family has it coming to them, Gellert. I cannot rest until I  _ know _ I have impinged upon his family name just as he did mine. That I have broken his family tree too.”

Her cousin is nodding slowly. Although Lucille realizes he probably cares very little about emotional motives, given that his are so different, she also knows that he understands, at least to a degree. “There are two Goldsteins alive today,” Gellert informs her then. “You remember Porpentina. She has a sister, Queenie, younger by two years. Their parents died when they were young.”

If Lucille is going to kill, it's going to be one or the other. She isn't interested in the mass slaughter that her cousin wants. She’ll go along if that's what it takes, but she wants to exact revenge. Mordechai targeted John; she will target one of the Goldstein girls. It will be complicated. Specific. Premeditated. She will play and win. She was helpless against Richard; she could not do magic and she could not expose his actions. Now, it’s her turn to take control, to stand in her abuser's commanding shoes, and _get her revenge._

“Porpentina is an aspiring Auror,” Gellert reveals. Lucille’s interest is immediately piqued.

“Her sister?”

“Queenie is a Legilimens. She works a menial job at the Wand Permit Office of MACUSA.”

Porpentina sounds  _ much  _ more interesting. Plus, playing with a Legilimens will be no fun at all.

“You will have to be patient, Lu. Do you understand?” he asks, the same question he has asked every time they've had this conversation. “It's too soon now. Wait for her to become an Auror, to  _ do _ something. Wait until the moment is right. And then pounce...”

* * *

_ 1925 _

Albus Dumbledore is in the papers, and all of a sudden it comes back to Lucille. Somehow that memory, her conversation with Dumbledore, had faded, smothered by the heap of other memories in the years since. He knows too much.

“Ah, Lucille,” the professor says when she shows up in his office, wand at the ready. “I presume you have come to Obliviate me?”

She stops, flummoxed. “I —”

“I did say your secret was safe with me,” he points out mildly, “but I can hardly blame a person for being cautious in times such as these...”

* * *

_ 1926 _

Lucille is just finishing her makeup when Modoc enters with an envelope. She slits it open with one sharp fingernail. A photograph falls out, along with a short note, which reads:

> _ This is the one. _

The mysterious sender (she has a sneaking suspicion that somehow, her cousin came through) has circled one woman in the photograph, who’s standing next to a man carrying a suitcase and looking around anxiously.

“Who’s this?” she asks Modoc, pointing to the woman.

“That’s the Auror, ma’am. The one who saved all those people in Manhattan.”

“Her name?”

“Goldstein, I think.”

Lucille’s heart leaps. “Modoc,” she says, “arrange passage to New York, immediately...”

* * *

_ 1927 _

Lucille is somewhere in Asia this time, in an underground chamber serving as Gellert’s hideaway. “I can help you,” she tells him. “If you will help me.” They feel much more like equals now: fellow villains.

Gellert raises an eyebrow. “What can you offer?” Despite his coldness and the maniacal glow in his eyes, Lucille knows that her cousin cares for her as much as he can care for anyone. That of all the people in the world, she is the one he would choose to protect. At least, she hopes so.

“Newt Scamander,” she replies.

Gellert’s lip curls. “What of him? He means nothing to me.”

“His beasts, Gellert. His case of beasts.”

He waves a hand dismissively. “The Obscurus is useless.”

Lucille grabs him by the shoulders, looks him dead-on in the eye. “Yes, but his _beasts_ aren't. You want an army? You need more than assassins. He has creatures that can kill — that _have_ killed. Think about it, Gellert. Demolishing Muggle towns with his most fearsome creatures. Killing your adversaries and passing it off as an unforeseeable attack.”

“I am intrigued,” he admits. “How do you intend to test this possibility?”

Lucille smiles slyly. “I have a plan...”

* * *

Tina and Lucille touch down on the ground again.

“Frida gave these to me,” Tina says before she can even begin to respond to anything else. She holds up the vial.

Lucille blanches. “When?”

“The battle. She’s dead,” Tina breaks the news somewhat gratingly.

Lucille’s hand clenches into a fist, and she looks as though she’s been punched in the gut, but she keeps her voice carefully level. “Very well.”

Tina tips the silvery liquid into the stone basin.

* * *

_ 1924 _

They’re back in Dumbledore’s office. Frida sits across the desk from him.

“At some point,” Dumbledore says gravely, “your Miss Wadcock will attempt to debilitate me by wiping my memory. And I shall let her.”

“Sir?”

“I do not have the strength or desire to fight against an honest woman’s pain.”

“Honest?”

“Her feelings are raw, honest, and true.” He steeples his fingers and leans forward slightly. “That is why I must relay this story to you.”

Frida is clearly confused, but nods for him to continue. Dumbledore rises and moves to the center of the room, where he begins to pace. Frida turns around in the chair to watch him.

“Like many, her motive is revenge.”

“Upon whom, sir?”

“There are two vital facts to understand,” the professor explains. He Summons his chair and sits down, so that they are face-to-face. “Miss Wadcock — Lucille — and Gellert Grindelwald are second cousins. They share great-grandparents. Bathilda Bagshot, Gellert’s great-aunt, was Lucille’s grandmother. Thus, they will no doubt have a strengthening connection in whatever is to come.

“Secondly, Lucille is avenging their great-grandfather’s death. Mordechai Goldstein killed John Edgecombe in 1904. Gellert cleverly removed memories of both — he always was a talented wizard — and Marie Whippet, John’s wife, remarried a much younger man named Richard Gerbel, which sent Lucille tumbling into a cycle of abuse at his hands. 

“John had long served as somewhat of a paternal figure for Lucille: her father was neglectful, and after her uncle Perseus died in 1909, the Grindelwalds moved away. And so Richard was the only — shall we say —  _ active _ male figure in her life. Instead of devoting himself to her, as he indubitably should have, he made the four years before she could flee to Hogwarts excruciatingly painful.

“It is not difficult to understand why Lucille should blame Mordechai for this progression of events. When she was sorted into Slytherin, she faced mockery and then ignorance. She was not terribly likable, I must say, and her sometimes stony, sometimes frenetic demeanor was unappealing to her peers. Had she been raised by a loving man such as John, she believes she would not have suffered those hardships either. She even believes she would have been sorted into a more ‘honorable’ house.” Dumbledore sighs. “It is not for either of us to say whether this assessment is correct. 

“Unable to manage the mingled shame, fear, and loneliness, she decided to drop out in her third year. Eventually she returned — ever a strong young woman — to finish her education. If anything, she was shunned more than before. I do believe her self-loathing and desperation to avenge John’s murder consumed her so entirely that she was soon beyond help.

“Prior to graduating, Lucille Obliviated her classmates, knowing that they may divulge information on her once she began going through with what were, at the time, her ill-informed and vague plans. Given that most people outside of her house and age group barely noticed she existed, it was not a terribly difficult feat. She also Obliviated teachers, though not yours truly.” The professor pauses. “What we must both understand is that unlike her second cousin, Lucille is emotional. Though she may like to assume a calculated mien, you surely understand her emotional fragility.”

Frida does. And, talking to Dumbledore, she now realizes why Lucille is so closed off. As a trained assassin — Dumbledore knows of her work, has seen the tally of those she has killed, and has not judged or exposed her — Frida regrets the fact that she cannot be more of an emotional touchstone. She wants to be there; she sees Lucille’s potential beyond the insecurity and evil facade. But she can’t.

“You are in love with her,” Dumbledore states.

“Yes, sir.” They have already discussed this.

Dumbledore looks at her soberly, eyes startlingly electric in their intensity. He reaches over and grips her hands in his. “Then you must save her. Save Lucille…”

* * *

_ 1927 _

“You will be backup?” Lucille asks Frida, adjusting her dress in the mirror.

Frida nods; she taps her hair with her wand, and the strands ripple and fold into a 1920s-appropriate bob. Her unusual outfit is replaced by a dress; her work boots turn into dainty Mary Janes.

“If you get a chance,” Lucille says as she makes final adjustments, “speak with Newt. For my sake.”

Frida nods. “I will.”

A few hours later, she watches from across The Arcadian Quill as Newt appears to realize that Tina has been gone too long. Before he can head over, she intercepts.

“Mr. Scamander,” she says breathlessly. She wonders if Phillip has pulled it off yet: like Lucille, she places very little trust in him to do anything but make a reckless fool of himself.

“Hello,” Newt replies nervously. His eyes dart towards the exit.

Frida draws him back to her. “If you — did you — would you —” She knows she is unlikely to stall him for long, but Lucille requested drama and hiding in plain sight, and what Lucille wants Lucille will surely get.

Newt watches, unsure as Frida feigns the motions of a starstruck fan. “Are you alright?” he asks, and she can practically feel the anxious energy emanating from him. He truly does love Tina, doesn’t he. The realization sends a pang of longing through her. 

“Y-yes, I — I — would you mind just —” She hands him a copy of his book timidly, along with a pencil. “Please.”

Newt barely pays her any mind at this point before leaving. Satisfied with her small contribution, Frida strolls out of the shop...

* * *

Running into Newt again during the ball is unexpected, although chances were high of an encounter. Frida reverts back to her previous role before walking the distance through a quiet Wyverthwaite to the outskirts of the island.

Unbeknownst to anyone, she has been here before. It was years and years ago, when she was just a baby, and visited the island for her aunt’s wedding. She was adopted as a newborn; her biological mother was an illegal immigrant who stayed at the hospital long enough for Frida to be issued a legal birth certificate with her biological father’s surname. Her parents, Kirsten and Bertram, work as seamstresses on Scamander Island under their own last name. Neither has heard from her in a decade. 

Frida was always the quiet, perfect little girl, and she couldn’t take the amount of  _ love _ they showered upon her when she felt something so evil and calculated within. The last time they spoke, Kirsten said that Bertram started doing dresses purely because he missed his daughter. (That, in and of itself, is why  _ that _ conversation was the last time they spoke.) Frida meant to Obliviate them, but she could not bring herself to do it. Perhaps it’s because she could almost see herself returning to the island, returning to them, if all of this ends... but it won’t.

She has a feeling now that she is going to die.

It doesn't take a genius to realize why Frida could get past the protection spell. It’s built to sense good and bad intent. Her intent in all of this is to save Lucille; her motive is love. And thus the ancient magic knows no difference. 

As for the suitcase, well… Newt and his motley crew may be clever, but she is a trained assassin, the lock-picker of wandwork and magic. 

Confident and relieved — seeing Newt and Tina only just leaving the ball ensures that there is no way they could have potentially overheard or witnessed something — Frida stands at the edge of the water and Disapparates...

* * *

Lucille has suggested that Sophia and Theseus may make a trip to the library. However, Frida is only looking for lunch when she fortuitously runs into the duo. Waiting until they’re swallowed up by the crowd, she makes a U-turn and dogs their footsteps, far enough away and surrounded by enough people to go undetected. 

Once they walk up the stairs, she enters the library and makes a show of walking quietly about, looking for books. She carefully turns her head so that, if either one of them even pays attention to her, she will go unrecognized. Eventually — dutifully playing her role of student/innocent library-goer — she compiles a small stack of randomly selected books and takes them to a nearby table. Her hearing is exceptional; otherwise, she would be far out of earshot.

After discovering their plan, she goes straight to Lucille...

* * *

Frida normally doesn't care about any feelings but Lucille’s. However, the expression on Gellert’s face when she accidentally walks in on him is such that she falters. 

“Mr. Grindelwald?” She grips her wand, read to defend herself. He’s been going off on random henchmen lately.

“You know?” he asks, his back still to her. 

“Yes, sir.”

“How is she?”

Frida hesitates. “Tortured.” 

The man turns around and flinches. “I see. You helped?” Frida isn’t sure whether to confess. Why is Gellert talking to her about this anyway? Surely he has better things to do. He quirks the corner of his mouth at her hesitation, and his eyes look suddenly more human. “You are hardly a subtle burglar, Miss Elmsworth.”

Frida prickles a little and momentarily forgets to whom she is speaking. “I executed the beast attack quite effectively, I thought.”

“But when it comes to Lucille...”

All bets are off. “Sir,” is all Frida can think to say.

Gellert stands. “If I discuss this with you, not a word will ever be spoken to anyone.”

“Of course, sir.”

He pauses, then admits, “I still cannot bring myself to hurt Lucille. I do not want her involved.” Gellert appears legitimately agitated, fingers twitching. “You have heard of my connection to Albus Dumbledore.” Frida inclines her head, wary of speaking a word. The villain scoffs. “A woman like you knows what the others should not.”

It’s true. “I do know some,” Frida allows. 

“Very good." Gellert pauses. "Albus had of course talked about Ariana before disaster hit, and despite our lack of contact I often thought of Lu. I was not always so...” He gestures vaguely. “I was there when she was born. My mother caught me on my way out of the house and all but forced Lucille into my arms. I had never been around a baby before. But she was so little. She had my nose.” Gellert touches his nose gently, almost wistfully. “She was my favorite cousin. I felt embarrassed and emasculated for caring about a little girl. But I came back every Christmas and summer to see her. Even as I grew darker and my empathy became a thing of the past... at one point, I did love Lu.”

“You still do,” Frida dares to say.

Gellert grimaces. “I do not know, at this point, if I am capable of  _ love.”  _ He says it with a sneer reminiscent of his second cousin. “She had nobody other than John and when Mordechai killed him, she had no one but me. I wanted to protect her. She was still a little girl.

“And so I promised that I would help with her revenge — would help her kill — once she was older. I prayed it would never come to that, that she would simply move on, but if she decided to do her worst, I wanted to be the one to train her.

“Then I stumbled upon Richard, her new great-grandfather, whipping her.” Gellert clenches his jaw. “She thought nobody knew. Oh, I knew. And I acted. I could not stop him forever. But I did what I could.”

“Thank you,” Frida feels compelled to say. She hates the thought of a small, defenseless Lucille struggling to be brave in the face of something so terrible.

Understanding dawns. “Do not tell me you are —”

“Based on what you have just said, I may very well be the only one who loves her,” Frida snaps. “Sir.”

Gellert’s face goes blank. “You will not speak a word,” he says dangerously, leaning forward so she feels his breath on her face.

“No, sir.”

He meets Frida’s gaze, a challenge which the assassin always wins, and flicks his fingers. “Leave.”

She does.

* * *

With a thump, Tina and Lucille land back in the room and stand there, chests heaving, staring at one another. Is this what it has come down to? They were almost friends, after all. Had Mordechai lived, the Goldsteins would have been just as close to the Edgecombe clan as ever. They may have even offered to take the Goldstein girls in, when they were orphaned...

The memories rush back to Tina now. She was so young, she’s amazed that she remembers it at all, but very  _ very _ vaguely she thinks she recalls the black-haired girl who plunked her down on her lap and sang songs. The image of the house flashes in her mind’s eye.

“Let’s go,” Tina says suddenly. She grabs Lucille’s arm before the woman can respond, and t hey end up where it all began, in the exact same foyer where Mordechai had killed John decades before. From the expression on Lucille’s face, it’s the first time she’s returned since she left.

“I have never been here,” she says hoarsely. “I have not...”

“You haven’t been where it happened?” Tina asks harshly.

Lucille looks up at her with wide, tormented eyes. “Never. It...” 

“There's no excuse for you trying to kill me,” Tina says frankly. 

Lucille’s eyes are tormented and fractured and frightening, her hands are shaking, and she’s past the point of no return...

Or is she?

Tina grips her wand. “I should kill you. You tried to kill me. You tried to ruin my life because of a petty argument that happened decades ago.”

“Then do it,” Lucille says, lifting her chin.

Tina has never felt so torn. “I won’t. I don’t kill people like that.”

“Then what will you do?” Lucille sneers. “If you let me loose, we both know what  _ I’ll _ do.”

“Do we?” Tina says lightly.

“I want you dead.”

“You said yourself, we could’ve been friends —”

“But we were not,” Lucille spits. “We never were. And I will always want my revenge.” She’s panting, unable to catch her breath, and oddly enough Tina feels the same. There is a palpable sense of urgency that weighs heavy on their chests. The two women know, deep down, what is going to happen. It’s only a matter of time.

“You really think that killing me is going to fix all of this?” Tina gestures around them. “Look at us, Lucille. You have nothing. You could, but you don’t.”

“You know,  _ Teenie,” _ Lucille says, eyes flashing, “Alec really should have left you.”

Tina snaps. Not only was that an entirely personal story — the thought of being overheard somehow sends chills down Tina’s spine; how many times were she and Newt spied on? How does Lucille  _ know? — _ but for this woman, broken and abandoned, to say exactly what neither of them want to hear, is just plain malicious. Especially when Tina is trying to... what  _ is _ she trying to do?

Lucille seems unable to stop. “You are not as wonderful as Newt thinks you are,” she sneers.

Tina is frozen in place, heart pounding in rage, but refuses to give in.

The villain taunts her now. “What do you think you will do, once this is all over? You think that Newt would stay with you, an Auror? He has bigger and better things ahead of him, darling.” Her American accent is back. “You cannot claim that he was not the  _ teensiest _ bit enticed by Dorothy Clifford.” She giggles and it’s a terrible sound. “He will meet new women and grow tired of you.” 

“He. Won’t,” Tina responds through gritted teeth.

Lucille takes a step towards her. “He will. Do you know why I know?”

Tina takes the bait. “Why?”

“Because every. Body. Leaves,” Lucille says in a hard, cruel voice.

“For you, maybe —”

Lucille reaches for her wand so quickly, it’s on reflex alone that Tina manages to get to hers in time. Expertly, she blocks Lucille’s curse; handcuffs wrap themselves around the villain’s wrists. Just like Frida had done, Lucille willingly drops her wand to the ground, her expression never changing.

“You overstepped,” Tina says evenly.

“Perhaps I did,” Lucille replies, and all traces of flirtation have been sapped from her voice. 

Both women look away, towards the window where the early morning sun is streaming in. 

Then Lucille seems to pull herself together and states, “You have options, Miss Goldstein. You can kill me now, because you  _ know _ I will still do whatever it takes to kill you, and kill every single person who has given you the life I should have lived. Kill me as an act of kindness — end the life of someone who may never find peace. You saw the Pensieve. Frida was the only one who loved me, and she is gone.” 

Lucille’s voice wavers ever so slightly, but she regains her composure and continues:

“You can lock me up, because we both know I belong behind bars. But my  dear cousin can break out of any prison in the world, and frankly, darling, I’m  _ dying  _ for a reunion. If I escape — which, rest assured, I  _ will —  _ is that really going to satisfy you? Tina Goldstein, esteemed Auror, let Gellert Grindelwald’s little cousin slip through her fingers?” 

Lucille wets her lips. A bird chirps outside as she presents the final option.

“Or you can have mercy and blind, foolish hope and let me go, trusting that I will be a changed woman. That I will have decided not to kill...” She tilts her head. “But we both know that _ nothing _ will stop me now.” Lucille Wadcock falls silent, her beloved blue cloche hat raggedy and singed. “Take your pick, Miss Goldstein.”

Tina smiles and raises her wand.

**~FIN~**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, kudos to people who shipped Lucille and Frida from the start. Someone commented like... chapters and chapters ago, that they shipped them, and now look what we have here. 
> 
> And surprise, our lovely tailors are Frida's estranged parents. Either they died in battle and never saw her there, or saw her and didn't get to say anything before Andrew killed her. Jury's out on that too. We have no idea what's happening in the aftermath back on the island, after all. (Vote for an epilogue, maybe...?)
> 
> Thank you so much for everything. I know there aren't many of you (at least I think) but each and every one has been incredibly kind, supportive, and overall awesome during this crazy journey. I think I had estimated the summer or September for when this fic finishes up... so I definitely beat that!
> 
> Lastly, if you've been a ghost reader and not commented before, I'd love a comment now just to see if I have any other non-commenting readers out there, but only if you feel like it. Quality over quantity is what I keep telling myself, and it's true! Emails are also entirely appreciated: ecb327@gmail.com.
> 
> Ciao!


	88. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She shakes her head. This is her life. This has always been her life. And she is happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some people disliked the lack of closure, in which case I thought I would post my personal ending.
> 
> Please read the comments section for my own explanation/reflection :)

Because I really don't want people reading the epilogue unless they want to, I posted it in a separate doc **[here](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1FkTsuxMwx9HWZMvrmnsTzW7024OOg0H3Gmy0UYy2rc0/edit?usp=sharing)**. The nature of magic is that it's limitless, as your imagination should be. Things don't always make sense when you're adhering to "rules" of magic. If ambiguity is frustrating for you and you want a concrete answer, then you probably won't want to read my ending. But if you're curious about my thoughts, and you're curious about Lucille's fate, and you're a dreamer yourself, then enjoy.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m back on AO3, and have completed [_Part of the Job_](%E2%80%9Darchiveofourown.org/works/10428960/chapters/23027952%E2%80%9D) (police AU) and in this series (TWMLLO canon) _[Three Hearts Beating](%E2%80%9Darchiveofourown.org/works/9509999/chapters/21510638%E2%80%9D)_ , [_All the world_](%E2%80%9Darchiveofourown.org/works/9676955/chapters/21856199%E2%80%9D), and [_The Long Day_](%E2%80%9Darchiveofourown.org/works/10241582/chapters/22718942%E2%80%9D)! Subscribe for more upcoming updates.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are ever appreciated!
> 
> I experienced the life of being a controversial author around this fic, so I feel compelled to jot down a few more notes for those who wish to continue:
> 
> -This was really not intended to be a "big" fic (in length or readership), and it was awhile before I decided to change it from utterly gratuitous, potentially OOC angst to something plotted and absurdly long.
> 
> -It's not flawless; it's fanfiction. I wrote this in essentially a month. This entire damn thing. So, it definitely isn't going to be perfect. But with any luck it should be fun, and engaging, and generally well-written.
> 
> -Is it slow? At times, probably. Is it perfectly plotted? Nope, I was flying by the seat of my pants. Should/could I rewrite it to be better? Yep. But to those who enjoy and value the adventure, plot, and characters as a whole, I do appreciate your support :) 
> 
> Most importantly:
> 
> When I write for others I write for their own good, not personal glory. So, if all this does is provide entertainment or a peaceful moment away from the rest of your busy life, then I'm happy. Happy reading <3


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